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JACKANAPES 

DADDY   DARWIN'S  DOVECOT 

AND   OTHER   STORIES 

BY 

JULIANA   HORATIA   EWING 


NEW  YORK :  46  EAST  14TH  STREET 

THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL    &    CO. 

BOSTON:  100  Purchase  Street 


Copyright,  1893, 
By  THOMAS  Y.   CROWELL  &  CO 


Education 
Add'l 


rlFX 


jSTorfaooU  i^rcgg: 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


IJyuAmHomyik  Ewsmc 


WITH 

[lLUSTRATI0N5 
Br 

KAN  D  o  L  p  H 

CALDEC07T 

/v     /\    ^\     '\    y\/ 


"  If  I  might  buffet  for  my  love,  or  bound  my 
horse  for  her  favors,  I  could  lay  on  like  a 
butcher,  and  sit  like  a  Jackanapes,  never  off!" 

King  Henry  V.,  Act  5,  Scene  2. 


JACKANAPES, 


>J<Kc 


CHAPTER   I. 

Last  noon  beheld  them  full  of  lusty  life, 

Last  eve  in  Beauty's  circle  proudly  gay, 

The  midnight  brought  the  signal  sound  of  strife, 

The  morn  the  marshalling  in  arms  —  the  day 

Battle's  magnificently  stern  array ! 

The  thunder-clouds  close  o'er  it,  which  when  rent 

The  earth  is  covered  thick  with  other  clay, 

Which  her  own  clay  shall  cover,  heaped  and  pent. 

Rider  and  horse  :  —  friend,  foe,  —  in  one  red  burial  blent. 

Their  praise  is  hymn'd  by  loftier  harps  than  mine : 
Yet  one  would  I  select  from  that  proud  throng. 

to  thee,  to  thousands,  of  whom  each 

And  one  as  all  a  ghastly  gap  did  make 
In  his  own  kind  and  kindred,  whom  to  teach 
Forgetfulness  were  mercy  for  their  sake  ; 
The  Archangel's  trump,  not  glory's,  must  awake 
Those  whom  they  thirst  for.  —  Byron. 
(5) 


JACKANAPES. 


KW'Vir 


WO  Donkeys 
and  the  Geese 
lived  on  the 
Green,  and  all 
other  residents 
of  any  social 
standing  lived 
in  houses  round 
it.  The  houses 
had  no  names. 
Everybody's 
address  was,  "The  Green,"  but  the  Postman  and 
the  people  of  the  place  knew  where  each  family 
lived.  As  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  what  has  one 
to  do  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  when  he  is  safe 
at  home  on  his  own  Goose  Green  ?  Moreover, 
if  a  stranger  did  come  on  any  lawful  business, 
he  might  ask  this  way  at  the  shop. 

Most  of  the  inhabitants  were  long-lived,  early 
deaths  (like  that  of  the  little  Miss  Jessamine) 
being  exceptional;  and  most  of  the  old  people 


LITTLE    MISS    JESSAMINE.  7 

were  proud  of  their  age,  especially  the  sexton, 
who  would  be  ninety-nine  come  Martinmas, 
and  whose  father  remembered  a  man  who  had 
carried  arrows,  as  a  boy,  for  the  battle  of 
Flodden  Field.  The  Grey  Goose  and  the  big 
Miss  Jessamine  were  the  only  elderly  persons 
who  kept  their  ages  secret.  Indeed,  Miss 
Jessamine  never  mentioned  any  one's  age,  or 
recalled  the  exact  year  in  which  anything  had 
happened.  She  said  that  she  had  been  taught 
that  it  was  bad  manners  to  do  so  *'in  a  mixed 
assembly." 

The  Grey  Goose  also  avoided  dates,  but  this 
was  partly  because  her  brain,  though  intelligent, 
was  not  mathematical,  and  computation  was 
beyond  her.  She  never  got  farther  than  "last 
Michaelmas,"  "the  Michaelmas  before  that," 
and  "the  Michaelmas  before  the  Michaelmas 
before  that."  After  this  her  head,  which  was 
small,  became  confused,  and  she  said,"  Ga,  ga!" 
and  changed  the  subject. 

But  she  remembered  the  little  Miss  Jessamine, 


8  JACKANAPES. 

the  Miss  Jessamine  with  the  "  conspicuous " 
hair.  Her  aunt,  the  big  Miss  Jessamine,  said 
it  was  her  only  fault.  The  hair  was  clean,  was 
abundant,  was  glossy,  but  do  what  you  would 
with  it,  it  never  looked  like  other  people's. 
And  at  church,  after  Saturday  night's  wash, 
it  shone  like  the  best  brass  fender  after  a 
Spring  cleaning.  In  short,  it  was  conspicuous, 
which  does  not  become  a  young  woman  — 
especially  in  church. 

Those*  were  worrying  times  altogether,  and 
the  Green  was  used  for  strange  purposes.  A 
pohtical  meeting  was  held  on  it  with  the  village 
Cobbler  in  the  chair,  and  a  speaker  who  came 
by  stage  coach  from  the  town,  where  they  had 
wrecked  the  bakers'  shops,  and  discussed  the 
price  of  bread.  He  came  a  second  time,  by 
stage,  but  the  people  had  heard  something 
about  him  in  the  meanwhile,  and  they  did  not 
keep  him  on  the  Green.  They  took  him  to  the 
pond  and  tried  to  make  him  swim,  which  he 
could    not    do,    and  the  whole   affair  was  very 


BONY  AND  THE  BLACK  CAPTAIN.       9 

disturbing  to  all  quiet  and  peaceable  fowls. 
After  which  another  man  came,  and  preached 
sermons  on  the  Green,  and  a  great  many  people 
went  to  hear  him ;  for  those  were  "  trying 
times,"  and  folk  ran  hither  and  thither  for 
comfort.  And  then  what  did  they  do  but  drill 
the  ploughboys  on  the  Green,  to  get  them 
ready  to  fight  the  French,  and  teach  them  the 
goose-step !  However,  that  came  to  an  end  at 
last,  for  Bony  was  sent  to  St.  Helena,  and  the 
ploughboys  were  sent  back  to  the  plough. 

Everybody  lived  in  fear  of  Bony  in  those  days, 
especially  the  naughty  children,  who  were  kept 
in  order  during  the  day  by  threats  of,  "  Bony 
shall  have  you,"  and  who  had  nightmares  about 
him  in  the  dark.  They  thought  he  was  an 
Ogre  in  a  cocked  hat.  The  Grey  Goose 
thought  he  was  a  fox,  and  that  all  the  men  of 
England  were  going  out  in  red  coats  to  hunt 
him.  It  was  no  use  to  argue  the  point,  for  she 
had  a  very  small  head,  and  when  one  idea  got 
into  it  there  was  no  room  for  another. 


lO  JACKANAPES. 

Besides,  the  Grey  Goose  never  saw  Bony,  nor 
did  the  children,  which  rather  spoilt  the  terror 
of  him,  so  that  the  Black  Captain  became  more 
effective  as  a  Bogy  with  hardened  offenders. 
The  Grey  Goose  remembered  his  coming  to  the 
place  perfectly.  What  he  came  for  she  did  not 
pretend  to  know.  It  was  all  part  and  parcel  of 
the  war  and  bad  times.  He  was  called  the 
Black  Captain,  partly  because  of  himself,  and 
partly  because  of  his  wonderful  black  mare. 
Strange  stories  were  afloat  of  how  far  and  how 
fast  that  mare  could  go,  when  her  master's  hand 
was  on  her  mane  and  he  whispered  in  her  ear. 
Indeed,  some  people  thought  we  might  reckon 
ourselves  very  lucky  if  we  were  not  out  of  the 
frying-pan  into  the  fire,  and  had  not  got  a  cer- 
tain well-known  Gentleman  of  the  Road  to  pro- 
tect us  against  the  French.  But  that,  of  course, 
made  him  none  the  less  useful  to  the  Johnson's 
Nurse,  when  the  little  Miss  Johnsons  were 
naughty. 

"You  leave   off    crying    this    minnit,    Miss 


SOLDIERS    IN    PEACE.  II 

Jane,  or  I'll  give  you  right  away  to  that  horrid 
wicked  officer.  Jemima!  just  look  out  o'  the 
windy,  if  you  please,  and  see  if  the  Black 
Cap'n's  a-com-ing  with  his  horse  to  carry  away 
Miss  Jane." 

And  there,  sure  enough,  the  Black  Captain 
strode  by,  with  his  sword  clattering  as  if  it  did 
not  know  whose  head  to  cut  off  first.  But  he 
did  not  call  for  Miss  Jane  that  time.  He  went 
on  to  the  Green,  where  he  came  so  suddenly 
upon  the  eldest  Master  Johnson,  sitting  in  a 
puddle  on  purpose,  in  his  new  nankeen  skeleton 
suit,  that  the  young  gentleman  thought  judg- 
ment had  overtaken  him  at  last,  and  abandoned 
himself  to  the  bowlings  of  despair.  His  howls 
were  redoubled  when  he  was  clutched  from 
behind  and  swung  over  the  Black  Captain's 
shoulder,  but  in  five  minutes  his  tears  were 
stanched,  and  he  was  playing  with  the  officer's 
accoutrements.  All  of  which  the  Grey  Goose 
saw  with  her  own  eyes,  and  heard  afterwards 
that  that  bad  boy  had  been  whining  to  go  back 


12  JACKANAPES. 

to  the  Black  Captain  ever  since,  which  showed 
how  hardened  he  was,  and  that  nobody  but 
Bonaparte  himself  could  be  expected  to  do  him 
any  good. 

But  those  were  "trying  times."  It  was  bad 
enough  when  the  pickle  of  a  large  and  respecta- 
ble family  cried  for  the  Black  Captain ;  when 
it  came  to  the  little  Miss  Jessamine  crying  for 
him,  one  felt  that  the  sooner  the  French  landed 
and  had  done  with  it  the  better. 

The  big  Miss  Jessamine's  objection  to  him 
was  that  he  was  a  soldier,  and  this  prejudice 
was  shared  by  all  the  Green.  *'  A  soldier,"  as 
the  speaker  from  the  town  had  observed,  *'  is  a 
bloodthirsty,  unsettled  sort  of  a  rascal ;  that  the 
peaceable,  home-loving,  bread-winning  citizen 
can  never  conscientiously  look  on  as  a  brother, 
till  he  has  beaten  his  sword  into  a  ploughshare, 
and  his  spear  into  a  pruning-hook." 

On  the  other  hand  there  was  some  truth  in 
what  the  Postman  (an  old  soldier)  said  in  reply ; 
that  the  sword  has  to  cut  a  way  for  us  out  of 


ARE   LIKE    CHIMNEYS    IN    SUMMER.  1 3 

many  a  scrape  into  which  our  bread-winners  get 
us  when  they  drive  their  ploughshares  into  fal- 
lows that  don't  belong  to  them.  Indeed,  whilst 
our  most  peaceful  citizens  were  prosperous 
chiefly  by  means  of  cotton,  of  sugar,  and  of  the 
rise  and  fall  of  the  money-market  (not  to  speak 
of  such  salable  matters  as  opium,  firearms,  and 
"  black  ivory  "),  disturbances  were  apt  to  arise  in 
India,  Africa  and  other  outlandish  parts,  where 
the  fathers  of  our  domestic  race  were  making  for- 
tunes for  their  families.  And,  for  that  matter, 
even  on  the  Green,  we  did  not  wish  the  military 
to  leave  us  in  the  lurch,  so  long  as  there  was  any 
fear  that  the  French  were  coming.^ 

1  "  The  political  men  declare  war,  and  generally  for  com- 
mercial interests;  but  when  the  nation  is  thus  embroiled  with  its 
neighbors  the  soldier  .  .  .  draws  the  sword,  at  the  command 
of  his  country.  .  .  .  One  word  as  to  thy  comparison  of 
military  and  commercial  persons.  What  manner  of  men  be  they 
who  have  supplied  the  Caffres  with  the  firearms  and  ammunition 
to  maintain  their  savage  and  deplorable  wars?  Assuredly  they 
are  not  military,  .  .  .  Cease  then,  if  thou  would'st  be  counted 
among  the  just,  to  vilify  soldiers."  —  W.  Napier,  Lieut.-General, 
November,  1851. 


14 


JACKANAPES. 


To  let  the  Black  Captain  have  little  Miss 
Jessamine,  however,  was  another  matter.  Her 
Aunt  would  not  hear  of  it ;  and  then,  to  crown 
all,  it  appeared  that  the  Captain's  father  did  not 
think  the  young  lady  good  enough  for  his  son. 


Never  was  any  affair  more  clearly  brought  to  a 
conclusion. 

But  those  were  "trying  times;"  and  one 
moonlight  night,  when  the  Grey  Goose  was 
sound  asleep  upon  one  leg,  the  Green  was  rudely 


SHE  S    O  ER   THE    BORDER   AND    AWA  . 1 5 

shaken  under  her  by  the  thud  of  a  horse's  feet. 
"  Ga,  ga  !  "  said  she,  putting  down  the  other  leg, 
and  running  away. 

By  the  time  she  returned  to  her  place  not  a 
thing  was  to  be  seen  or  heard.  The  horse  had 
passed  like  a  shot.  But  next  day,  there  was 
hurrying  and  skurrying  and  cackling  at  a  very 
early  hour,  all  about  the  white  house  with  the 
black  beams,  where  Miss  Jessamine  lived.  And 
when  the  sun  was  so  low,  and  the  shadows  so 
long  on  the  grass  that  the  Grey  Goose  felt  ready 
to  run  away  at  the  sight  of  her  own  neck,  little 
Miss  Jane  Johnson,  and  her  "  particular  friend  '' 
Clarinda,  sat  under  the  big  oak-tree  on  the  Green, 
and  Jane  pinched  Clarinda's  little  finger  till  she 
found  that  she  could  keep  a  secret,  and  then  she 
told  her  in  confidence  that  she  had  heard  from 
Nurse  and  Jemima  that  Miss  Jessamine's  niece 
had  been  a  very  naughty  girl,  and  that  that 
horrid  wicked  officer  had  come  for  her  on  his 
black  horse,  and  carried  her  right  away. 

"Will  she  never  come  back  ?  "  asked  Clarinda. 


l6  JACKANAPES. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Jane  decidedly.  *'  Bony  never 
brings  people  back." 

"Not  never  no  more.?"  sobbed  Clarinda,  for 
she  was  weak-minded,  and  could  not  bear  to 
think  that  Bony  never  never  let  naughty  people 
go  home  again. 

Next  day  Jane  had  heard  more. 

"  He  has  taken  her  to  a  Green." 

"A  Goose  Green.?"  asked  Clarinda. 

"No.  A  Gretna  Green.  Don't  ask  so  many 
questions,  child,"  said  Jane ;  who,  having  no  more 
to  tell,  gave  herself  airs. 

Jane  was  wrong  on  one  point.  Miss  Jessa- 
mine's niece  did  come  back,  and  she  and  her 
husband  were  forgiven.  The  Grey  Goose  re- 
membered it  well,  it  was  Michaelmastide,  the 
Michaelmas  before  the  Michaelmas  before  the 
Michaelmas  —  but,  ga,  ga  !  What  does  the  date 
matter  ?  It  was  autumn,  harvest-time,  and  every- 
body was  so  busy  prophesying  and  praying 
about  the  crops,  that  the  young  couple  wandered 
through  the  lanes,  and  got  blackberries  for  Miss 


The  Children  on  the  Black  Mare's  Back. 


BLACKBERRIES    AND    BRYONY-WREATHS.         1/ 

Jessamine's  celebrated  crab  and  blackberry  jam, 
and  made  guys  of  themselves  with  bryony- 
wreaths,  and  not  a  soul  troubled  his  head  about 
them,  except  the  children,  and  the  Postman. 
The  children  dogged  the  Black  Captain's  foot- 
steps (his  bubble  reputation  as  an  Ogre  having 
burst),  clamoring  for  a  ride  on  the  black  mare. 
And  the  Postman  would  go  somewhat  out  of  his 
postal  way  to  catch  the  Captain's  dark  eye,  and 
show  that  he  had  not  forgotten  how  to  salute 
an  officer. 

But  they  were  "  trying  times."  One  afternoon 
the  black  mare  was  stepping  gently  up  and 
down  the  grass,  with  her  head  at  her  master's 
shoulder,  and  as  many  children  crowded  on  to 
her  silky  back  as  if  she  had  been  an  elephant  in 
a  menagerie ;  and  the  next  afternoon  she  carried 
him  away,  sword  and  sabre-tache  clattering  war- 
music  at  her  side,  and  the  old  Postman  waiting 
for  them,  rigid  with  salutation,  at  the  four 
cross  roads. 

War  and  bad  times!     It  was  a  hard  winter, 


1.8 


JACKANAPES. 


and  the  big  Miss  Jessamine  and  the  little  Miss 
Jessamine  (but  she  was  Mrs.  Black-Captain  now), 
lived  very  economically  that  they  might  help  their 


poorer  neighbors.  They  neither  entertained  nor 
went  into  company,  but  the  young  lady  always 
went  up  the  village  as  far  as  the  Geoj^ge  mid 


ILL    NEWS    RIDES    POST.  I9 

Dragon,  for  air  and  exercise,  when  the  London 
MaiP  came  in. 

One  day  (it  was  a  day  in  the  following  June) 
it  came  in  earlier  than  usual,  and  the  young 
lady  was  not  there  to  meet  it. 

But  a  crowd  soon  gathered  round  the  George 
afid  Dragon,  gaping  to  see  the  Mail  Coach 
dressed  with  flowers  and  oak-leaves,  and  the 
guard  wearing  a  laurel  wreath  over  and  above 
his  royal  livery.  The  ribbons  that  decked  the 
horses  were  stained  and  flecked  with  the 
warmth  and  foam  of  the  pace  at  which  they  had 
come,  for  they  had  pressed  on  with  the  news 
of  Victory. 

Miss  Jessamine  was   sitting  with   her   niece 

1  The  Mail  Coach  it  was  that  distributed  over  the  face  of  the 
land,  like  the  opening  of  apocalyptic  vials,  the  heart-shaking 
news  of  Trafalgar,  of  Salamanca,  of  Vittoria,  of  Waterloo.  .  .  . 
The  grandest  chapter  of  our  experience,  within  the  whole  Mail 
Coach  service,  was  on  those  occasions  when  we  went  down 
from  London  with  the  news  of  Victory.  Five  years  of  life  it  was 
worth  paying  down  for  the  privilege  of  an  outside  place. 

De  Quincey. 


20  JACKANAPES. 

under  the  oak-tree  on  the  Green,  when  the 
Postman  put  a  newspaper  silently  into  her 
hand.     Her  niece  turned  quickly  — 

"  Is  there  news  ?  " 

"Don't  agitate  yourself,  my  dear,"  said  her 
aunt.  "  I  will  read  it  aloud,  and  then  we  can 
enjoy  it  together;  a  far  more  comfortable 
method,  my  love,  than  when  you  go  up  the 
village,  and  come  home  out  of  breath,  having 
snatched  half  the  news  as  you  run." 

"  I  am  all  attention,  dear  aunt,"  said  the  little 
lady,  clasping  her  hands  tightly  on  her  lap. 

Then  Miss  Jessamine  read  aloud  —  she  was 
proud  of  her  reading  —  and  the  old  soldier 
stood  at  attention  behind  her,  with  such  a 
blending  of  pride  and  pity  on  his  face  as  it  was 
strange  to  see  :  — 

"  Downing  Street, 

'■^June  22,   1815,  I  A.M." 

"That's  one  in  the  morning,"  gasped  the 
Postman;  "beg  your  pardon,  mum." 

But    though    he    apologized,    he    could    not 


IT    WAS    A    FAMOUS    VICTORY.  21 

refrain  from  echoing  here  and  there  a  weighty 
word.  "  Glorious  victory,"  —  "  Two  hundred 
pieces  of  artillery,"  —  "  Immense  quantity  of 
ammunition,"  —  and  so  forth. 

"  The  loss  of  the  British  Army  upon  this  occasion  has 

unfortunately  been  most  severe.     It  had  not  been  possible 

to  make  out   a  return  of  the  killed   and  wounded  when 

Major  Percy  left  headquarters.     The  names  of  the  officers 

killed  and  wounded,  as  far  as  they  can  be  collected,  are 

annexed. 

"  I  have  the  honor " 

"  The  list,  aunt !     Read  the  list !  " 

"  My   love  —  my   darling  —  let  us  go  in  and 


"  No.     Now  !  now  !  " 

To  one  thing  the  supremely  afflicted  are 
entitled  in  their  sorrow  —  to  be  obeyed  —  and 
yet  it  is  the  last  kindness  that  people  com- 
monly will  do  them.  But  Miss  Jessamine  did. 
Steadying  her  voice,  as  best  she  might,  she 
read  on,  and  the  old  soldier  stood  bareheaded 
to  hear  that  first  Roll  of  the  Dead  at  Waterloo, 
which  began  with  the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  and 


22  JACKANAPES. 

ended  with  Ensign  Brown .^  Five-and-thirty 
British  Captains  fell  asleep  that  day  on  the  bed 
of  Honor,  and  the  Black  Captain  slept  among 
them. 

There  are  killed  and  wounded  by  war,  of 
whom  no  returns  reach  Downing  Street. 

Three  days  later,  the  Captain's  wife  had 
joined  him,  and  Miss  Jessamine  was  kneeling 
by  the  cradle  of  their  orphan  son,  a  purple-red 
morsel  of  humanity,  with  conspicuously  golden 
hair. 

"Will  he  live.  Doctor.?"* 

"Live.?  God  bless  my  soul,  ma'am!  Look 
at  him  !     The  young  Jackanapes  !  " 

1  "  Brunswick's  fated  chieftain  "  fell  at  Quatre  Bras,  the  day 
before  Waterloo,  but  this  first  (very  imperfect)  list,  as  it  ap- 
peared in  the  newspapers  of  the  day,  did  begin  with  his  name, 
and  end  with  that  of  an  Ensign  Brown.    • 


CHAPTER   II. 


And  he  wandered  away  and  away 
With  Nature,  the  dear  old  Nurse. 

Longfellow. 

^^™p^HE    Grey    Goose    remembered 
-  —  J^—  quite  well    the    year    that 

Jackanapes  began  to  walk, 
for  it  was  the  year  that  the 
speckled  hen  for  the  first 
time  in  all  her  motherly 
life  got  out  of  patience 
when  she  was  sitting.  She 
had  been  rather  proud  of  the  eggs  —  they  were 
unusually  large  —  but  she  never  felt  quite  com- 
fortable on  them  ;  and  whether  it  was  because 
she  used  to  get  cramp,  and  go  off  the  nest,  or 
because  the  season  was  bad,  or  what,  she  never 
could  tell,  but  every  egg  was  addled  but  one, 
(23) 


24  JACKANAPES. 

and  the  one  that  did  hatch  gave  her  more 
trouble  than  any  chick  she  had  ever  reared. 

It  was  a  fine,  downy,  bright  yellow  little 
thing,  but  it  had  a  monstrous  big  nose  and 
feet,  and  such  an  ungainly  walk  as  she  knew 
no  other  instance  of  in  her  well-bred  and  high- 
stepping  family.  And  as  to  behavior,  it  was 
not  that  it  was  either  quarrelsome  or  moping, 
but  simply  unlike  the  rest.  When  the  other 
chicks  hopped  and  cheeped  on  the  Green  about 
their  mother's  feet,  this  solitary  yellow  brat 
went  waddling  off  on  its  own  responsibility, 
and  do  or  cluck  what  the  speckled  hen  would, 
it  went  to  play  in  the  pond. 

It  was  off  one  day  as  usual,  and  the  hen  was 
fussing  and  fuming  after  it,  when  the  Postman, 
going  to  deliver  a  letter  at  Miss  Jessamine's  door, 
was  nearly  knocked  over  by  the  good  lady  her- 
self, who,  bursting  out  of  the  house  with  her 
cap  just  off  and  her  bonnet  just  not  on,  fell 
into  his  arms,  crying  — 

"  Baby  !    Baby  !   Jackanapes !   Jackanapes ! " 


THE    YELLOW   THING. 


•25 


If  the  Postman  loved  anything  on  earth,  he 
loved  the  Captain's  yellow-haired  child,  so  prop- 
ping   Miss    Jessamine   against    her   own   door- 


post, he  followed  the  direction  of  her  trembling 
fingers  and  made  for  the  Green. 

Jackanapes  had  had  the  start  of  the  Postman 
by  nearly  ten  minutes.  The  world — the  round 
green  world  with  an  oak  tree  on  it  —  was  just 


26  JACKANAPES. 

becoming  very  interesting  to  him.  He  had 
tried,  vigorously  but  ineffectually,  to  mount  a 
passing  pig  the  last  time  he  was  taken  out 
walking ;  but  then  he  was  encumbered  with  a 
nurse.  Now  he  was  his  own  master,  and  might, 
by  courage  and  energy,  become  the  master  of 
that  delightful,  downy,  dumpy,  yellow  thing, 
that  was  bobbing  along  over  the  green  grass 
in  front  of  him.  Forward !  Charge !  He 
aimed  well,  and  grabbed  it,  but  only  to  feel 
the  delicious  downiness  and  dumpiness  slipping 
through  his  fingers  as  he  fell  upon  his  face. 
"Quawk!"  said  the  yellow  thing,  and  wobbled 
off  sideways.  It  was  this  oblique  movement 
that  enabled  Jackanapes  to  come  up  with  it, 
for  it  was  bound  for  the  Pond,  and  therefore 
obliged  to  come  back  into  line.  He  failed  again 
from  top-heaviness,  and  his  prey  escaped  side- 
ways as  before,  and,  as  before,  lost  ground  in 
getting  back  to  the  direct  road  to  the  Pond. 

And  at  the   Pond  the  Postman  found  them 
both,   one  yellow  thing  rocking  safely  on   the 


THE  OTHER  YELLOW  THING.         2*] 

ripples  that  lie  beyond  duck-weed,  and  the 
other  washing  his  draggled  frock  with  tears, 
because  he  too  had  tried  to  sit  upon  the  Pond, 
and  it  wouldn't  hold  him. 


CHAPTER    III. 

.     .     .     If  studious,  copie  fair  what  time  hath  blurred, 
Redeem  truth  from  his  jawes  ;  if  souldier, 
Chase  brave  employments  with  a  naked  sword 
Throughout  the  world.     Fool  not ;  for  all  may  have, 
If  they  dare  try,  a  glorious  life,  or  grave. 


In  brief,  acquit  thee  bravely :  play  the  man. 
Look  not  on  pleasures  as  they  come,  but  go. 
Defer  not  the  least  vertue  :  life's  poore  span 
Make  not  an  ell,  by  trifling  in  thy  woe. 

"^  If  thou  do  ill,  the  joy  fades, 

f  r /      ^\  not  the  pains. 

v_  ) -v!^       ^  If  well :  the  pain  doth  fade 

the  joy  remains. 

George  Herbert. 

OUNG  Mrs.  John- 
son, who  was  a 
mother  of  many, 
hardly  knew  which 
rto  pity  more  ;  Miss 
Jessamine  for  having  her  little  ways  and  her 

antimacassars  rumpled  by  a  young  Jackanapes ; 
(28) 


WHAT   ARE    LITTLE    BOYS    MADE    OF?  29 

or  the  boy  himself,  for  being  brought  up  by  an 
old  maid. 

Oddly  enough,  she  would  probably  have 
pitied  neither,  had  Jackanapes  been  a  girl. 
(One  is  so  apt  to  think  that  what  works 
smoothest  works  to  the  highest  ends,  having 
no  patience  for  the  results  of  friction.)  That 
Father  in  God,  who  bade  the  young  men  to 
be  pure,  and  the  maidens  brave,  greatly  dis- 
turbed a  member  of  his  congregation,  who 
thought  that  the  great  preacher  had  made 
a  slip  of  the  tongue. 

"That  the  girls  should  have  purity,  and  the 
boys  courage,  is  what  you  would  say,  good 
Father.?" 

"  Nature  has  done  that,"  was  the  reply ;  ''  I 
meant  what  I  said." 

In  good  sooth,  a  young  maid  is  all  the  bet- 
ter for  learning  soiiie  robuster  virtues  than 
maidenliness  and  not  to  move  the  antimacas- 
sars. And  the  robuster  virtues  require  some 
fresh    air    and    freedom.      As,    on    the    other 


30  JACKANAPES. 

hand,  Jackanapes  (who  had  a  boy^s  full  share 
of  the  little  beast  and  the  young  monkey  in 
his  natural  composition )  was  none  the  worse, 
at  his  tender  years,  for  learning  some  maiden- 
liness  —  so  far  as  maidenliness  means  decency, 
pity,  unselfishness  and  pretty  behavior. 

And  it  is  due  to  him  to  say  that  he  was 
an  obedient  boy,  and  a  boy  whose  word  could 
be  depended  on,  long  before  his  grandfather 
the  General  came  to  live  at  the  Green. 

He  was  oj^edient ;  that  is  he  did  what  his 
great  aunt  told  him.  But  —  oh  dear !  oh  dear ! 
—  the  pranks  he  played,  which  it  had  never 
entered  into  her  head  to  forbid! 

It  was  when  he  had  just  been  put  into  skele- 
tons (frocks  never  suited  him)  that  he  became 
very  friendly  with  Master  Tony  Johnson,  a 
younger  brother  of  the  young  gentleman  who 
sat  in  the  puddle  on  purpose.  Tony  was  not 
enterprising,  and  Jackanapes  led  him  by  the 
nose.  One  summer's  evening  they  were  out 
late,  and   Miss   Jessamine  was  becoming  anx- 


A   DELICATE    QUESTION.  3 1 

ious,  when  Jackanapes  presented  himself  with 
a  ghastly  face  all  besmirched  with  tears.  He 
was  unusually  subdued. 

"I'm  afraid,"  he  sobbed;  *'if  you  please,  I'm 
very  much  afraid  that  Tony  Johnson's  dying 
in  the  churchyard." 

Miss  Jessamine  was  just  beginning  to  be 
distracted,  when  she  smelt  Jackanapes. 

"  You  naughty,  naughty  boys  !  Do  you  mean 
to  tell  me  that  you've  been  smoking  ? " 

"  Not  pipes,"  urged  Jackanapes ;  "  upon  my 
honor.  Aunty,  not  pipes.  Only  segars  like 
Mr.  Johnson's  !  and  only  made  of  brown  paper 
with  a  very  very  little  tobacco  from  the  shop 
inside  them." 

Whereupon,  Miss  Jessamine  sent  a  servant 
to  the  churchyard,  who  found  Tony  Johnson 
lying  on  a  tomb-stone,  very  sick,  and  having 
ceased  to  entertain  any  hopes  of  his  own 
recovery. 

If  it  could  be  possible  that  any  "unpleasant- 
ness "  could  arise   between  two   such   amiable 


32  JACKANAPES.     . 

neighbors  as  Miss  Jessamine  and  Mrs.  Johnson 
—  and  if  the  still  more  incredible  paradox  can 
be  that  ladies  may  differ  over  a  point  on  which 
they  are  agreed  —  that  point  was  the  admitted 
fact  that  Tony  Johnson  was  "delicate,"  and 
the  difference  lay  chiefly  in  this  :  Mrs.  Johnson 
said  that  Tony  was  delicate  —  meaning  that 
he  was  more  finely  strung,  more  sensitive,  a 
properer  subject  for  pampering  and  petting 
than  Jackanapes,  and  that,  consequently,  Jacka- 
napes was  to  blame  for  leading  Tony  into 
scrapes  which  resulted  in  his  being  chilled, 
frightened,  or  (most  frequently)  sick.  But 
when  Miss  Jessamine  said  that  Tony  Johnson 
was  delicate,  she  meant  that  he  was  more 
puling,  less  manly,  and  less  healthily  brought 
up  than  Jackanapes,  who,  when  they  got  into 
mischief  together,  was  certainly  not  to  blame 
because  his  friend  could  not  get  wet,  sit  a  kick- 
ing donkey,  ride  in  the  giddy-go-round,  bear 
the  noise  of  a  cracker,  or  smoke  brown  paper 
with  impunity,  as  he  could. 


THE    FAIR.  33 

Not  that  there  was  ever  the  slightest  quarrel 
between  the  ladies.  It  never  even  came  near 
it,  except  the  day  after  Tony  had  been  so  very 
sick  with  riding  Bucephalus  in  the  giddy-go- 
round.  Mrs.  Johnson  had  explained  to  Miss 
Jessamine  that  the  reason  Tony  was  so  easily 
upset,  was  the  unusual  sensitiveness  (as  a  doc- 
tor had  explained  it  to  her)  of  the  nervous 
centres  in  her  family — **  Fiddlestick !  "  So 
Mrs.  Johnson  understood  Miss  Jessamine  to  say, 
but  it  appeared  that  she  only  said  "  Treacle- 
stick  ! "  which  is  quite  another  thing,  and  of 
which  Tony  was  undoubtedly  fond. 

It  was  at  the  fair  that  Tony  was  made  ill  by 
riding  on  Bucephalus.  Once  a  year  the  Goose 
Green  became  the  scene  of  a  carnival.  First  of 
all,  carts  and  caravans  were  rumbling  up  all  along, 
day  and  night.  Jackanapes  could  hear  them  as 
he  lay  in  bed,  and  could  hardly  sleep  for  spec- 
ulating what  booths  and  whirligigs  he  should 
find  fairly  established,  when  he  and  his  dog  Spit- 
fire went  out  after  breakfast.    As  a  matter  of 


34  JACKANAPES. 

fact,  he  seldom  had  to  wait  long  for  news  of  the 
Fair.  The  Postman  knew  the  window  out  of 
which  Jackanapes'  yellow  head  would  come,  and 
was  ready  with  his  report. 

"Royal  Theayter,  Master  Jackanapes,  in  the 
old  place,  but  be  careful  o'  them  seats,  sir;  they're 
rickettier  than  ever.  Two  sweets  and  a  ginger- 
beer  under  the  oak  tree,  and  the  Flying  Boats  is 
just  a-coming  along  the  road." 

No  doubt  it  was  partly  because  he  had  al- 
ready suffered  severely  in  the  Flying  Boats, 
that  Tony  collapsed  so  quickly  in  the  giddy-go- 
round.  He  only  mounted  Bucephalus  (who  was 
spotted,  and  had  no  tail)  because  Jackanapes 
urged  him,  and  held  out  the  ingenious  hope  that 
the  round-and-round  feeling  would  very  likely 
cure  the  up-and-down  sensation.  It  did  not, 
however,  and  Tony  tumbled  off  during  the  first 
revolution. 

Jackanapes  was  not  absolutelyfreefrom  qualms, 
but  having  once  mounted  the  Black  Prince  he 
stuck  to  him  as  a  horseman  should.     During  the 


HOW    TO    RUN    AWAY.  35 

first  round  he  waved  his  hat,  and  observed  with 
some  concern  that  the  Black  Prince  had  lost  an 
ear  since  last  Fair;  at  the  second,  he  looked  a 
little  pale,  but  sat  upright,  though  somewhat  un- 
necessarily rigid  ;  at  the  third  round  he  shut  his 
eyes.     During  the  fourth  his  hat  fell  off,  and  he 


clasped  his  horse's  neck.  By  the  fifth  he  had 
laid  his  yellow  head  against  the  Black  Prince's 
mane,  and  so  clung  anyhow  till  the  hobby-horses 
stopped,  when  the  proprietor  assisted  him  to 
alight,  and  he  sat  down  rather  suddenly  and  said 
he  had  enjoyed  it  very  much. 


36  .  JACKANAPES. 

The  Grey  Goose  always  ran  away  at  the  first 
approach  of  the  caravans,  and  never  came  back 
to  the  Green  till  there  was  nothing  left  of  the 
Fair  but  footmarks  and  oyster-shells.  Running 
away  was  her  pet  principle ;  the  only  system, 
she  maintained,  by  which  you  can  live  long  and 
easily,  and  lose  nothing.  If  you  run  away  when 
you  see  danger,  you  can  come  back  when  all  is 
safe.  Run  quickly,  return  slowly,  hold  your 
head  high,  and  gabble  as  loud  as  you  can,  and 
you'll  preserve  the  respect  of  the  Goose  Green 
to  a  peaceful  old  age.  Why  should  you  struggle 
and  get  hurt,  if  you  can  lower  your  head  and 
swerve,  and  not  lose  a  feather.^  Why  in  the 
world  should  any  one  spoil  the  pleasure  of  life, 
or  risk  his  skin,  if  he  can  help  it.'* 

"  ^Whafs  the  use?' 
Said  the  Goose." 

Before  answering  which  one  might  have  to 
consider  what  world — which  life  —  whether  his 
skin  were  a  goose-skin  ;  but  the  Grey  Goose's 
head  would  never  have  held  all  that. 


HOW    TO    STICK    ON.  3/ 

Grass  soon  grows  over  footprints,  and  the 
village  children  took  the  oyster-shells  to  trim 
their  gardens  with ;  but  the  year  after  Tony 
rode  Bucephalus  there  lingered  another  relic 
of  Fair-time,  in  which  Jackanapes  was  deeply 
interested.  "The  Green"  proper  was  origi- 
nally only  part  of  a  straggling  common,  which 
in  its  turn  merged  into  some  wilder  waste  land 
where  gipsies  sometimes  squatted  if  the  authori- 
ties would  allow  them,  especially  after  the 
annual  Fair.  And  it  was  after  the  Fair  that 
Jackanapes,  out  rambling  by  himself,  was 
knocked  over  by  the  Gipsy's  son  riding  the 
Gipsy's  red-haired  pony  at  break-neck  pace 
across  the  common. 

Jackanapes  got  up  and  shook  himself,  none 
the  worse,  except  for  being  heels  over  head  in 
love  with  the  red-haired  pony.  What  a  rate  he 
went  at !  How  he  spurned  the  ground  with  his 
nimble  feet !  How  his  red  coat  shone  in  the 
sunshine !  And  what  bright  eyes  peeped  out 
of  his  dark  forelock  as  it  was  blown  by  the  wind ! 


38  JACKANAPES. 

The  Gipsy  boy  had  had  a  fright,  and  he  was 
wilUng  enough  to  reward  Jackanapes  for  not 
having  been  hurt,  by  consenting  to  let  him 
have  a  ride. 

"Do  you  mean  to  kill  the  Httle  fine  gentle- 
man, and  swing  us  all  on  the  gibbet,  you  ras- 
cal.'*" screamed  the  Gipsy-mother,  who  came 
up  just  as  Jackanapes  and  the  pony  set  off. 

"  He  would  get  on,"  replied  her  son.  **  It'll 
not  kill  him.  He'll  fall  on  his  yellow  head, 
and  it's  as  tough  as  a  cocoanut." 

But  Jackanapes  did  not  fall.  He  stuck  to 
the  red-haired  pony  as  he  had  stuck  to  the 
hobby-horse ;  but  oh,  how  different  the  delight 
of  this  wild  gallop  with  flesh  and  blood !  Just 
as  his  legs  were  beginning  to  feel  as  if  he  did 
not  feel  them,  the  Gipsy  boy  cried  "  Lollo ! " 
Round  went  the  pony  so  unceremoniously, 
that,  with  as  little  ceremony.  Jackanapes  clung 
to  his  neck,  and  he  did  not  properly  recover 
himself  before  Lollo  stopped  with  a  jerk  at 
the  place  where  they  had  started. 


"  Lollo  is  your  pony,  isn't  he  ?  "  said  Jackanapes. 


THE    GIPSY-FATHER.  39 

"Is  his  name  Lollo?"  asked  Jackanapes,  his 
hand  lingering  in  the  wiry  mane. 

"Yes." 

"  What  does  Lollo  mean  ? " 

"Red." 

"Is -Lollo  your  pony.-*" 

"No.  My  father's."  And  the  Gipsy  boy 
led  Lollo  away. 

At  the  first  opportunity  Jackanapes  stole 
away  again  to  the  common.  This  time  he  saw 
the  Gipsy-father,  smoking  a  dirty  pipe. 

"Lollo  is  your  pony,  isn't  he?"  said  Jacka- 
napes. 

"Yes." 

"He's  a  very  nice  one." 

"  He's  a  racer." 

"  You  don't  want  to  sell  him,  do  you  ? " 

"Fifteen  pounds,"  said  the  Gipsy-father; 
and  Jackanapes  sighed  and  went  home  again. 
That  very  afternoon  he  and  Tony  rode  the  two 
donkeys,  and  Tony  managed  to  get  thrown, 
and  even   Jackanapes'   donkey   kicked.     But  it 


40  JACKANAPES. 

was  jolting,  clumsy  work  after  the  elastic 
swiftness  and  the  dainty  mischief  of  the  red- 
haired  pony. 

A  few  days  later  Miss  Jessamine  spoke  very 
seriously  to  Jackanapes.  She  was  a  good  deal 
agitated  as  she  told  him  that  his  grandfather 
the  General  was  coming  to  the  Green,  and 
that  he  must  be  on  his  very  best  behavior 
during  the  visit.  If  it  had  been  feasible  to 
leave  off  calling  him  Jackanapes  and  to  get 
used  to  his  baptismal  name  of  Theodore  be- 
fore the  day  after  to-morrow  (when  the  Gen- 
eral was  due ),  it  would  have  been  satisfactory. 
But  Miss  Jessamine  feared  it  would  be  impos- 
sible in  practice,  and  she  had  scruples  about  it 
on  principle.  It  would  not  seem  quite  truthful, 
although  she  had  always  most  fully  intended 
that  he  should  be  called  Theodore  when  he  had 
outgrown  the  ridiculous  appropriateness  of  his 
nickname.  The  fact  was  that  he  had  not  out- 
grown it,  but  he  must  take  care  to  remember  who 
was  meant  when  his  grandfather  said  Theodore. 


THE    GENERAL.  4I 

Indeed  for  that  matter  he  must  take  care  all 
along. 

*'  You  are  apt  to  be  giddy,  Jackanapes,"  said 
Miss  Jessamine. 

**  Yes  aunt,"  said  Jackanapes,  thinking  of  the 
hobby-horses. 

"  You  are  a  good  boy,  Jackanapes.  Thank 
God,  I  can  tell  your  grandfather  that.  An 
obedient  boy,  an  honorable  boy,  and  a  kind- 
hearted  boy.  But  you  are  —  in  short,  you  are 
a  Boy,  Jackanapes.  And  I  hope" — added 
Miss  Jessamine,  desperate  with  the  results  of 
experience — "that  the  General  knows  that 
Boys  will  be  Boys." 

What  mischief  could  be  foreseen.  Jackanapes 
promised  to  guard  against.  He  was  to  keep  his 
clothes  and  his  hands  clean,  to  look  over  his 
catechism,  not  to  put  sticky  things  in  his  pock- 
ets, to  keep  that  hair  of  his  smooth  —  ("  It's 
the  wind  that  blows  it,  Aunty,"  said  Jacka- 
napes—  *'  I'll  send  by  the  coach  for  some  bear's- 
grease,"  said  Miss  Jessamine,   tying  a  knot  in 


42 


JACKANAPES. 


her  pocket-handkerchief)  —  not  to  burst  in  at  the 
parlor  door,  not  to  talk  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
not  to  crumple  his  Sunday  frill,  and  to  sit  quite 
quiet  during  the  sermon,  to  be  sure  to  say  "  sir  " 


to  the  General,  to  be  careful  about  rubbing  his 
shoes  on  the  door-mat,  and  to  bring  his  lesson- 
books  to  his  aunt  at  once  that  she  might  iron 
down  the  dogs*  ears.  The  General  arrived,  and 
for  the  first  day  all  went  well,  except  that  Jack- 


TWO    ARE    COMPANY.  43 

I 

anapes'  hair  was  as  wild  as  usual,  for  the  hair- 
dresser had  no  bear's-grease  left.  He  began  to 
feel  more  at  ease  with  his  grandfather,  and 
disposed  to  talk  confidentially  with  him,  as  he 
did  with  the  Postman.  All  that  the  General 
felt  it  would  take  too  long  to  tell,  but  the  result 
was  the  same.  He  was  disposed  to  talk  confi- 
dentially with  Jackanapes. 

''  Mons'ous  pretty  place  this,"  he  said,  look- 
ing out  of  the  lattice  on  to  the  Green,  where 
the  grass  was  vivid  with  sunset,  and  the  shad- 
ows were  long  and  peaceful. 

"  You  should  see  it  in  Fair-week,  sir,"  said 
Jackanapes,  shaking  his  yellow  mop,  and  lean- 
ing back  in  his  one  of  the  two  Chippendale  arm- 
chairs in  which  they  sat. 

"A  fine  time  that,  eh.?"  said  the  General, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  left  eye.  (The  other  was 
glass.) 

Jackanapes  shook  his  hair  once  more.  "  I 
enjoyed  this  last  one  the  best  of  all,"  he  said. 
"I'd  so  much  money." 


44  JACKANAPES. 

"  By  George,  it's  not  a  common  complaint  in 
these  bad  times.     How  much  had  ye?" 

''  rd  two  shillings.  A  new  shilling  Aunty 
gave  me,  and  elevenpence  I  had  saved  up,  and 
a  penny  from  the  Postman  —  sir  !''  added  Jack- 
anapes with  a  jerk,  having  forgotten  it. 

*'And  how  did  ye  spend  it  —  sirf  inquired 
the  General. 

Jackanapes  spread  his  ten  fingers  on  the 
arms  of  his  chair,  and  shut  his  eyes  that  he 
might  count  the  more  conscientiously. 

"Watch-stand  for  Aunty,  threepence.  Trum- 
pet for  myself,  twopence,  that's  fivepence. 
Ginger-nuts  for  Tony,  twopence,  and  a  mug 
with  a  Grenadier  on  for  the  Postman,  four- 
pence,  that's  elevenpence.  Shooting-gallery  a 
penny,  that's  a  shilling.  Giddy-go-round,  a 
penny,  that's  one  and  a  penny.  Treating 
Tony,  one  and  twopence.  Flying  Boats  (Tony 
paid  for  himself),  a  penny,  one  and  threepence. 
Shooting-gallery  again,  one  and  fourpence  ;  Fat 
Woman  a  penny,  one  and  fivepence.     Giddy-go- 


HE  IS  WELL  PAID  THAT    IS  WELL  SATISFIED.      4$ 

round  again,  one  and  sixpence.  Shooting- 
gallery,  one  and  sevenpence.  Treating  Tony, 
and  then  he  wouldn't  shoot,  so  I  did,  one  and 
eightpence.  Living  Skeleton,  a  penny  —  no, 
Tony  treated  me,  the  Living  Skeleton  doesn't 
count.  Skittles,  a  penny,  one  and  ninepence. 
Mermaid  (but  when  we  got  inside  she  was 
dead),  a  penny,  one  and  tenpence.  Theatre,  a 
penny  (Priscilla  Partington,  or  the  Green  Lane 
Murder.  A  beautiful  young  lady,  sir,  with 
pink  cheeks  and  a  real  pistol),  that's  one  and 
elevenpence.  Ginger  beer,  a  penny  (I  was 
so  thirsty !)  two  shillings.  And  then  the 
Shooting-gallery  man  gave  me  a  turn  for 
nothing,  because,  he  said,  I  was  a  real  gentle- 
man, and  spent  my  money  like  a  man." 

"So  you  do,  sir,  so  you  do!"  cried  the 
General.  "Why,  sir,  you  spend  it  like  a 
prince.  And  now  I  suppose  you've  not  got  a 
penny  in  your  pocket  ?  " 

"Yes  I  have,"  said  Jackanapes.  "Two 
pennies.  They  are  saving  up."  And  Jacka- 
napes jingled  them  with  his  hand. 


46  JACKANAPES. 

"You  don't  want  money  except  at  fair-times, 
I  suppose  ? "  said  the  General. 

Jackanapes  shook  his  mop. 

"  If  I  could  have  as  much  as  I  want,  I  should 
know  what  to  buy,"  said  he. 

"And  how  much  do  you  want,  if  you  could 
get  it.?" 

"Wait  a  minute,  sir,  till  I  think  what  two- 
pence from  fifteen  pounds  leaves.  Two  from 
nothing  you  can't,  but  borrow  twelve.  Two 
from  twelve,  ten,  and  carry  one.  Please 
remember  ten,  sir,  when  I  ask  you.  One  from 
nothing  you  can't,  borrow  twenty.  One  from 
twenty,  nineteen,  and  carry  one.  One  from  fif- 
teen, fourteen.  Fourteen  pounds  nineteen  and 
—  what  did  I  tell  you  to  remember.?" 

"Ten,"  said  the  General. 

"  Fourteen  pounds  nineteen  shillings  and  ten- 
pence  then,  is  what  I  want,"  said  Jackanapes. 

"Bless  my  soul,  what  for.?" 

"To  buy  Lollo  with.  Lollo  means  red,  sir. 
The    Gipsy's    red-haired    pony,  sir.     Oh,  he  is 


f  LOLLO.  47 

beautiful  !  You  should  see  his  coat  in  the 
sunshine !  You  should  see  his  mane !  You 
should  see  his  tail !  Such  little  feet,  sir,  and 
they  go  like  lightning  !  Such  a  dear  face,  too, 
and  eyes  like  a  mouse !  But  he's  a  racer,  and 
the  Gipsy  wants  fifteen  pounds  for  him." 

"  If  he's  a  racer,  you  couldn't  ride  him. 
Could  you  ? " 

"No — o,  sir,  but  I  can  stick  to  him.  I  did 
the  other  day." 

"You  did,  did  you.?  Well,  I'm  fond  of 
riding  myself,  and  if  the  beast  is  as  good  as  you 
say,  he  might  suit  me."  • 

"You're  too  tall  for  Lollo,  I  think,"  said 
Jackanapes,  measuring  his  grandfather  with 
his  eye. 

"  I  can  double  up  my  legs,  I  suppose.  We'll 
have  a  look  at  him  to-morrow." 

"Don't  you  weigh  a  good  deal.'*"  asked 
Jackanapes. 

"  Chiefly  waistcoats,"  said  the  General, 
slapping  the   breast  of   his   military  frock-coat. 


48  JACKANAPES. 

"We'll  have  the  little  racer  on  the  Green 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  Glad  you 
mentioned  it,  grandson.  Glad  you  mentioned  it." 

The  General  was  as  good  as  his  word. 
Next  morning  the  Gipsy  and  LoUo,  Miss 
Jessamine,  Jackanapes  and  his  grandfather 
and  his  dog  Spitfire,  were  all  gathered  at  one 
end  of  the  Green  in  a  group,  which  so  aroused 
the  innocent  curiosity  of  Mrs.  Johnson,  as  she 
saw  it  from  one  of  her  upper  windows,  that 
she  and  the  children  took  their  early  promenade 
rather  earlier  than  usual.  The  General  talked 
to  the  Gipsy,  and  Jackanapes  fondled  Lollo's 
mane,  and  did  not  know  whether  he  should 
be  more  glad  or  miserable  if  his  grandfather 
bought  him. 

"Jackanapes  ! " 

"Yes,  "sir!" 

"  I've  bought  Lollo,  but  I  believe  you  were 
right.  He  hardly  stands  high  enough  for  me. 
If  you  can  ride  him  to  the  other  end  of  the 
Green,  I'll  g.'ve  him  to  you." 


A    RIDE    FOR    A    RED-HAIRED    PONY.  49 

How  Jackanapes  tumbled  on  to  Lollo's  back 
he  never  knew.  He  had  just  gathered  up  the 
reins  when  the  Gipsy-father  took  him  by  the  arm. 

''  If  you  want  to  make  Lollo  go  fast,  my 
Uttle  gentleman " 

"/  can  make  him  go!"  said  Jackanapes, 
and  drawing  from  his  pocket  the  trumpet  he 
had  bought  in  the  fair,  he  blew  a  blast  both 
loud  and  shrill. 

Away  went  Lollo,  and  away  went  Jackanapes* 
hat.  His  golden  hair  flew  out,  an  aureole  from 
which  his  cheeks  shone  red  and  distended  with 
trumpeting.  Away  went  Spitfire,  mad  with 
the  rapture  of  the  race,  and  the  wind  in  his 
silky  ears.  Away  went  the  geese,  the  cocks, 
the  hens,  and  the  whole  family  of  Johnson. 
Lucy  clung  to  her  mamma,  Jane  saved  Emily 
by  the  gathers  of  her  gown,  and  Tony  saved 
himself  by  a  somersault. 

The  Grey  Goose  was  just  returning  when 
Jackanapes  and  Lollo  rode  back.  Spitfire  pant- 
ing behind. 


50 


JACKANAPES. 


"Good,  my  little  gentleman,  good  !"  said  the 
Gipsy.  "You  were  born  to  the  saddle.  You've 
the  flat  thigh,  the  strong  knee,  the  wiry  back, 
and  the  light  caressing  hand,  all  you  want 
is  to  learn  the  whisper.     Come  here  !  " 


"What  was  that   dirty  fellow  talking  about, 
grandson  ?  "  asked  the  General. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  sir.     It's  a  secret." 
They  were   sitting  in    the  window   again,  in 
the   two  Chippendale   arm-chairs,  the  General 
devouring   every   line    of   his   grandson's    face, 
with  strange  spasms  crossing  his  own. 


ONE  THAT  MAKES  OLD  HEARTS  FRESH.   5 1 

"  You  must  love  your  aunt  very  much,  Jack- 
anapes? " 

"  I  do,  sir,"  said  Jackanapes  warmly. 

"And  whom  do  you  love  next  best  to  your 
aunt.?" 

The  ties  of  blood  were  pressing  very  strongly 
on  the  General  himself,  and  perhaps  he  thought 
of  Lollo.  But  Love  is  not  bought  in  a  day, 
even  with  fourteen  pounds  nineteen  shillings 
and  tenpence.  Jackanapes  answered  quite 
readily,   "The  Postman." 

"Why  the  Postman.?" 

"He  knew  my  father,"  said  Jackanapes, 
"and  he  tells  me  about  him,  and  about  his 
black  mare.  My  father  was  a  soldier,  a  brave 
soldier.  He  died  at  Waterloo.  When  I  grow 
up  I  want  to  be  a  soldier  too." 

"So  you  shall,  my  boy.     So  you  shall." 

"  Thank  you,  grandfather.  Aunty  doesn't 
want  me  to  be  a  soldier  for  fear  of  being  killed." 

"  Bless  my  life !  Would  she  have  you  get 
into  a  feather-bed  and  stay  there.?     Why,  you 


52  JACKANAPES. 

might  be  killed  by  a  thunderbolt,  if  you  were  a 
butter-merchant ! " 

"So  I  might.  I  shall  tell  her  so.  What  a 
funny  fellow  you  are,  sir!  I  say,  do  you  think 
my  father  knew  the  Gipsy's  secret  ?  The  Post- 
man says  he  used  to  whisper  to  his  black  mare." 

"  Your  father  was  taught  to  ride  as  a  child, 
by  one  of  those  horsemen  of  the  East  who 
swoop  and  dart  and  wheel  about  a  plain  like 
swallows  in  autumn.  Grandson  !  Love  me  a 
little  too.  I  can  tell  you  more  about  your 
father  than  the  Postman  can." 

"I  do  love  you,"  said  Jackanapes.  ''Before 
you  came  I  was  frightened.  I'd  no  notion  you 
were  so  nice." 

"  Love  me  always,  boy,  whatever  I  do  or 
leave  undone.  And  —  God  help  me  —  what- 
ever you  do  or  leave  undone,  I'll  love  you ! 
There  shall  never  be  a  cloud  between  us  for  a 
day ;  no,  sir,  not  for  an  hour.  We're  imper- 
fect enough,  all  of  us,  we  needn't  be  so  bitter ; 
and  life  is  uncertain  enough  at   its  safest,  we 


love:   and  do  what  thou  wilt!        53 

needn't  waste  its  opportunities.  Look  at  me ! 
Here  sit  I,  after  a  dozen  battles  and  some  of 
the  worst  climates  in  the  world,  and  by  yonder 
lych  gate  lies  your  mother,  who  didn't  move 
five  miles,  I  suppose,  from  your  aunt's  apron- 
strings,  —  dead  in  her  teens  ;  my  golden-haired 
daughter,  whom  I  never  saw." 

Jackanapes  was  terribly  troubled. 

"Don't  cry,  grandfather,"  he  pleaded,  his 
own  blue  eyes  round  with  tears.  "  I  will  love 
you  very  much,  and  I  will  try  to  be  very  good. 
But  I  should  like  to  be  a  soldier." 

"You  shall,  my  boy,  you  shall.  You've 
more  claims  for  a  commission  than  you  know  of. 
Cavalry,  I  suppose  ;  eh,  ye  young  Jackanapes  .? 
Well,  well ;  if  you  live  to  be  an  honor  to  your 
country,  this  old-heart  shall  grow  young  again 
with  pride  for  you  ;  and  if  you  die  in  the  service 
of  your  country  —  God  bless  me,  it  can  but 
break  for  ye !" 

And  beating  the  region  which  he  said  was  all 
waistcoats,  as  if  they  stifled  him,  the  old  man 
got  up  and  strode  out  on  to  the  Green. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay 
down  his  life  for  his  friends."  —  John  xv.  13. 


Sv:6 


WENTY  and  odd  years  later  the 
Grey  Goose  was  still  alive,  and  in 
full  possession  of  her  faculties,  such  as  they 
were.  She  lived  slowly  and  carefully,  and  she 
lived  long.  So  did  Miss  Jessamine ;  but  the 
General  was  dead. 

(54) 


ON    ACTIVE    SERVICE.  55 

He  had  lived  on  the  Green  for  many  years, 
during  which  he  and  the  Postman  saluted  each 
other  with  a  punctiliousness  that  it  almost  drilled 
one  to  witness.  He  would  have  completely 
spoiled  Jackanapes  if  Miss  Jessamine's  con- 
science would  have  let  him  ;  otherwise  he  some- 
what dragooned  his  neighbors,  and  was  as  posi- 
tive about  parish  matters  as  a  ratepayer  about 
the  army.  A  stormy-tempered,  tender-hearted 
soldier,  irritable  with  the  suffering  of  wounds 
of  which  he  never  spoke,  whom  all  the  village 
followed  to  his  grave  with  tears. 

The  General's  death  was  a  great  shock  to 
Miss  Jessamine,  and  her  nephew  stayed  with 
her  for  some  little  time  after  the  funeral.  Then 
he  was  obliged  to  join  his  regiment,  which  was 
ordered  abroad. 

One  effect  of  the  conquest  which  the  General 
had  gained  over  the  affections  of  the  village, 
was  a  considerable  abatement  of  the  popular 
prejudice  against  "the  military."  Indeed  the 
village  was  now  somewhat  importantly  repre- 


56  JACKANAPES. 

sented  in  the  army.  There  was  the  General 
himself,  and  the  Postman,  and  the  Black  Cap- 
tain's tablet  in  the  church,  and  Jackanapes,  and 
Tony  Johnson,  and  a  Trumpeter. 

Tony  Johnson  had  no  more  natural  taste  for 
fighting  than  for  riding,  but  he  was  as  devoted 
as  ever  to  Jackanapes,  and  that  was  how  it  came 
about  that  Mr.  Johnson  bought  him  a  commis- 
sion in  the  same  cavalry  regiment  that  the  Gen- 
eral's grandson  (whose  commission  had  been 
given  him  by  the  Iron  Duke)  was  in,  and  that 
he  was  quite  content  to  be  the  butt  of  the  mess 
where  Jackanapes  was  the  hero ;  and  that  when 
Jackanapes  wrote  home  to  Miss  Jessamine, 
Tony  wrote  with  the  same  purpose  to  his 
mother ;  namely,  to  demand  her  congratula- 
tions that  they  were  on  active  service  at  last,  and 
were  ordered  to  the  front.  And  he  added  a 
postscript  to  the  effect  that  she  could  have  no 
idea  how  popular  Jackanapes  was,  nor  how 
splendidly  he  rode  the  wonderful  red  charger 
whom  he  had  named  after  his  old  friend  Lollo. 


THE    BOY    TRUMPETER. 


57 


'*  Sound  Retire  !  " 

A  Boy  Trumpeter,  grave  with  the  weight  of 
responsibilities  and  accoutrements  beyond  his 
years,  and  stained,  so  that  his  own  mother 
would  not  have  known  him,  with  the  sweat  and 


dust  of  battle,  did  as  he  was  bid  ;  and  then 
pushing  his  trumpet  pettishly  aside,  adjusted 
his  weary  legs  for  the  hundredth  time  to  the 
horse  which  was  a  world  too  big  for  him,  and 
muttering,  "  'Tain't  a  pretty  tune,"  tried  to  see 


58  JACKANAPES. 

something  of  this,  his  first  engagement,  before 
it  came  to  an  end. 

Being  literally  in  the  thick  of  it,  he  could 
hardly  have  seen  less  or  known  less  of  what 
happened  in  that  particular  skirmish  if  he  had 
been  at  home  in  England.  For  many  good 
reasons ;  including  dust  and  smoke,  and  that 
what  attention  he  dared  distract  from  his  com- 
manding officer  was  pretty  well  absorbed  by 
keeping  his  hard-mouthed  troop-horse  in  hand, 
under  pain  of  execration  by  his  neighbors  in 
the  melee.  By-and-by,  when  the  newspapers 
came  out,  if  he  could  get  a  look  at  one  before 
it  was  thumbed  to  bits,  he  would  learn  that 
the  enemy  had  appeared  from  ambush  in  over- 
whelming numbers,  and  that  orders  had  been 
given  to  fall  back,  which  was  done  slowly 
and  in  good  order,  the  men  fighting  as  they 
retired. 

Born  and  bred  on  the  Goose  Green,  the 
youngest  of  Mr.  Johnson's  gardener's  numerous 
offspring,    the    boy    had   given    his   family  "no 


HIS    FIRST    BATTLE.  59 

peace"  till  they  let  him  "go  for  a  soldier" 
with  Master  Tony  and  Master  Jackanapes. 
They  consented  at  last,  with  more  tears  than 
they  shed  when  an  elder  son  was  sent  to  jail 
for  poaching,  and  the  boy  was  perfectly  happy 
in  his  life,  and  full  of  esprit  de  corps.  It  was 
this  which  had  been  wounded  by  having  to 
sound  retreat  for  "  the  young  gentlemen's  regi- 
ment," the  first  time  he  served  with  it  before 
the  enemy,  and  he  was  also  harassed  by  having 
completely  lost  sight  of  Master  Tony.  There 
had  been  some  hard  fighting  before  the  back- 
ward movement  began,  and  he  had  caught  sight 
of  him  once,  but  not  since.  On  the  other 
hand,  all  the  pulses  of  his  village  pride  had 
been  stirred  by  one  or  two  visions  of  Master 
Jackanapes  whirling  about  on  his  wonderful 
horse.  He  had  been  easy  to  distinguish^  since 
an  eccentric  blow  had  bared  his  head  without 
hurting  it,  for  his  close  golden  mop  of  hair 
gleamed  in  the  hot  sunshine  as  brightly  as  the 
steel  of  the  sword  flashing  round  it. 


60  JACKANAPES. 

Of  the  missiles  that  fell  pretty  thickly,  the 
Boy  Trumpeter  did  not  take  much  notice. 
First,  one  can't  attend  to  everything,  and  his 
hands  were  full.  Secondly,  one  gets  used  to 
■  anything.  Thirdly,  experience  soon  teaches 
one,  in  spite  of  proverbs,  how  very  few  bullets 
find  their  billet.  Far  more  unnerving  is  the 
mere  suspicion  of  fear  or  even  of  anxiety  in 
the  human  mass  around  you.  The  Boy  was 
beginning  to  wonder  if  there  were  any  dark 
reason  for  the  increasing  pressure,  and  whether 
they  would  be  allowed  to  move  back  more 
quickly,  when  the  smoke  in  front  lifted  for  a 
moment,  and  he  could  see  the  plain,  and  the 
enemy's  line  some  two  hundred  yards  away. 

And  across  the  plain  between  them,  he  saw 
Master  Jackanapes  galloping  alone  at  the  top 
of  Lollo's  speed,  their  faces  to  the  enemy,  his 
golden  head  at  Lollo's  ear. 

But  at  this  moment  noise  and  smoke  seemed 
to  burst  out  on  every  side,  the  officer  shouted 
to  him  to  sound  retire,  and  between  trumpeting 


WHEN    BALE    IS    HEXT    BOOT    IS    NEXT.  6l 

and  bumping  about  on  his  horse,  he  saw  and 
heard  no  more  of  the  incidents  of  his  first 
battle. 

Tony  Johnson  was  always  unlucky  with 
horses,  from  the  days  of  the  giddy-go-round 
onwards.  On  this  day  —  of  all  days  in  the 
year  —  his  own  horse  was  on  the  sick  list,  and 
he  had  to  ride  an  inferior,  ill-conditioned  beast, 
and  fell  off  that,  at  the  very  moment  when  it 
was  a  matter  of  life  or  death  to  be  able  to  ride 
away.  The  horse  fell  on  him,  but  struggled 
up  again,  and  Tony  managed  to  keep  hold  of 
it.  It  was  in  trying  to  remount  that  he  dis- 
covered, by  helplessness  and  anguish,  that  one 
of  his  legs  was  crushed  and  broken,  and  that 
no  feat  of  which  he  was  master  would  get  him 
into  the  saddle.  Not  able  even  to  stand  alone, 
awkwardly,  agonizingly  unable  to  mount  his 
restive  horse,  his  life  was  yet  so  strong  within 
him  !  And  on  one  side  of  him  rolled  the  dust 
and  smoke-cloud  of  his  advancing  foes,  and  on  the 
other,  that  which  covered  his  retreating  friends. 


62  JACKANAPES. 

He  turned  one  piteous  gaze  after  them,  with 
a  bitter  twinge,  not  of  reproach,  but  of  loneli- 
ness ;  and  then,  dragging  himself  up  by  the 
side  of  his  horse,  he  turned  the  other  way  and 
drew  out  his  pistol,  and  waited  for  the  end. 
Whether  he  waited  seconds  or  minutes  he  never 
knew,  before  some  one  gripped  him  by  the  arm. 

''Jackanapes!  GOD  bless  yoti !  It's  my 
left  leg.     If  you  could  get  me  on " 

It  was  like  Tony's  luck  that  his  pistol  went 
off  at  his  horse's  tail,  and  made  it  plunge ;  but 
Jackanapes  threw  him  across  the  saddle. 

**  Hold  on  anyhow,  and  stick  your  spur  in. 
I'll  lead  him.  Keep  your  head  down,  they're 
firing  high." 

And  Jackanapes  laid  his  head  down  —  to 
Lollo's  ear. 

It  was  when  they  were  fairly  off,  that  a  sud- 
den upspringing  of  the  enemy  in  all  directions 
had  made  it  necessary  to  change  the  gradual 
retirement  of  our  force  into  as  rapid  a  retreat 
as    possible.      And   when    Jackanapes    became 


A    RIDE    FOR    LIFE.  63 

aware  of  this,  and  fplt  the  lagging  and  swerv- 
ing of  Tony's  horse,  he  began  to  wish  he  had 
thrown  his  friend  across  his  own  saddle,  and 
left  their  lives  to  LoUo. 

When  Tony  became  aware  of  it,  several 
things  came  into  his  head.  i.  That  the  dan- 
gers of  their  ride  for  life  were  now  more  than 
doubled.  2.  That  if  Jackanapes  and  Lollo 
were  not  burdened  with  him  they  would  un- 
doubtedly escape.  3.  That  Jackanapes'  life 
was  infinitely  valuable,  and  his  —  Tony's  —  was 
not.  4.  That  this  —  if  he  could  seize  it  —  was 
the  supremest  of  all  the  moments  in  which  he 
had  tried  to  assume  the  virtues  which  Jacka- 
napes had  by  nature  ;  and  that  if  he  could  be 
courageous  and  unselfish  now 

He  caught  at  his  own  reins  and  spoke  very 
loud 

''Jackanapes!  It  won't  do.  You  and  Lollo 
must  go  on.  Tell  the  fellows  I  gave  you  back 
to  them,  with  all  my  heart.  Jackanapes,  if  you 
love  me,  leave  me ! " 


64  JACKANAPES. 

There  was  a  daffodil  light  over  the  evening 
sky  in  front  of  them,  and  it  shone  strangely  on 
Jackanapes'  hair  and  face.  He  turned  with 
an  odd  look  in  his  eyes  that  a  vainer  man  than 
Tony  Johnson  might  have  taken  for  brotherly 
pride.  Then  he  shook  his  mop,  and  laughed 
at  him. 

^^  Leave  you  f  To  save  my  skin  .-^  No,  Tony, 
not  to  save  my  soul!" 


i 


.y-.^'ji 


'-  ^^^^^Wii^kf. 


He  caught  at  his  own  reins  and  spoke  very  loud 

Jackanapes!    It  won't  do.    You  and  Lollo  must  go  on/ 


(65) 


CHAPTER  V. 


Mr.  Valiant  stwwwned.     His  will.    His  last  words. 

Then,  said  he,  "I  am  going  to  my  Father's.  .  .  .  My 
Sword  I  give  to  him  that  shall  succeed  me  in  my  Pilgrim- 
age, and  my  Courage  and  Skill  to  him  that  can  get  it." 
.  .  .  And  as  he  went  down  deeper,  he  said,  "  Grave, 
where  is  thy  Victory?" 

So  he  passed  over,  and  all  the  Trumpets  sounded  for 
him  on  the  other  side. 

Bunyan's  Pilgrifn^s  Progress. 

/^iOMING  out  of  a  hospital- 
\ii.,J        tent,   at    headquarters, 
the  surgeon  cannoned 
against,  and  rebounded 
from,  another  officer  ;  a 
sallow  man,  not  young, 
with  a  face  worn  more 
by     ungentle     experi- 
ences   than    by    age ; 
with  weary  eyes  that  kept  their  own   counsel, 
iron-gray  hair,  and  a  moustache  that  was  as  if 
(66) 


MR.    VALIANT    SUMMONED.  6/ 

a  raven  had  laid^its  wing  across  his  lips  and 
sealed  them. 

*'Well?" 

"Beg  pardon,  Major,  Didn't  see  you.  Oh, 
compound  fracture  and  bruises,  but  it's  all 
right.     He'll  pull  through." 

"Thank  God." 

It  was  probably  an  involuntary  expression, 
for  prayer  and  praise  were  not  much  in  the 
Major's  line,  as  a  jerk  of  the  surgeon's  head 
would  have  betrayed  to  an  observer.  He  was 
a  bright  little  man,  with  his  feelings  showing 
all  over  him,  but  with  gallantry  and  contempt 
of  death  enough  for  both  sides  of  his  profes- 
sion ;  who  took  a  cool  head,  a  white  handker- 
chief and  a  case  of  instruments,  where  other 
men  went  hot-blooded  with  weapons,  and  who 
was  the  biggest  gossip,  male  or  female,  of  the 
regiment.  Not  even  the  Major's  taciturnity 
daunted  him. 

*'  Didn't  think  he'd  as  much  pluck  about 
him   as    he    has.      He'll    do    all    right    if   he 


68  JACKANAPES. 

doesn't  fret  himself  into  a  fever  about  poor 
Jackanapes." 

"  Whom  are  you  talking  about  ? "  asked  the 
Major  hoarsely. 

''Young  Johnson.     He " 

"  What  about  Jackanapes  ? " 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  Sad  business.  Rode 
back  for  Johnson,  and  brought  him  in  ;  but, 
monstrous  ill-luck,  hit  as  they  rode.  Left 
lung " 

"Will  he  recover.?" 

"No.  Sad  business.  What  a  frame  —  what 
limbs — what  health  —  and  what  good  looks! 
Finest  young  fellow " 

"Where  is  he.?" 

"  In  his  own  tent,"  said  the  surgeon  sadly. 

The  Major  wheeled  and  left  him. 

"Can  I  do  anything  else  for  you.?" 
"Nothing,   thank    you.     Except  —  Major!    I 
wish  I  could  get  you  to  appreciate  Johnson." 
"This  is  not  an  easy  moment.  Jackanapes." 


HIS   WILL.  69 

"Let  me  tell  you,  sir — he  never  will  —  that 
if  he  could  have  driven  me  from  him,  he  would 
be  lying  yonder  at  this  moment,  and  I  should 
be  safe  and  sound." 

The  Major  laid  his  hand  over  his  mouth,  as 
if  to  keep  back  a  wish  he  would  have  been 
ashamed  to  utter. 

"  I've  known  old  Tony  from  a  child.  He's 
a  fool  on  impulse,  a  good  man  and  a  gentleman 
in  principle.  And  he  acts  on  principle,  which 
it's  not  every  —  some  water,  please !  Thank 
you,  sir.  It's  very  hot,  and  yet  one's  feet  get 
uncommonly  cold.  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you. 
He's  no  fire-eater,  but  he  has  a  trained  con- 
science and  a  tender  heart,  and  he'll  do  his  duty 
when  a  braver  and  more  selfish  man  might  fail 
you.  But  he  wants  encouragement ;  and  when 
I'm  gone " 

**  He  shall  have  encouragement.  You  have 
my  word  for  it.     Can  I  do  nothing  else } " 

"Yes,   Major.     A  favor." 

"Thank  you.   Jackanapes." 


JO  JACKANAPES. 

'*  Be  Lollo's  master,  and  love  him  as  well  as 
you  can.     He's  used  to  it." 

"  Wouldn't  you  rather  Johnson  had  him  ?  " 

The  blue  eyes  twinkled  in  spite  of  mortal 
pain.  V 

"Tony  rides  on  principle,  Major.  His  legs 
are  bolsters,  and  will  be  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter.  I  couldn't  insult  dear  Lollo,  but  if 
you  don't  care " 

"Whilst  I  live which  will  be  longer  than 

I  desire  or  deserve Lollo  shall  want  noth- 
ing, but you.     I  have  too  little  tenderness 

for my  dear   boy,   you're   faint.     Can   you 

spare  me  for  a  moment } " 

"No,  stay  — Major  !  " 

"What.?    What.?" 

"My  head  drifts  so  —  if  you  wouldn't  mind." 

"  Yes  !     Yes  !  " 

"  Say  a  prayer  by  me.  Out  loud  please,  I  am 
getting  deaf." 

"  My    dearest    Jackanapes  —  my    dear    boy 


HIS   LAST   WORDS.  7 1 

"One  of  the  Church  Prayers  —  Parade  Ser- 
vice, you  know " 

"I  see.  But  the  fact  is  —  God  forgive  me, 
Jackanapes  —  I'm  a  very  different  sort  of  fel- 
low to  some  of  you  youngsters.  Look  here, 
let  me  fetch " 

But  Jackanapes'  hand  was  in  his,  and  it 
wouldn't  let  go. 

There  was  a  brief  and  bitter  silence. 

"'Pon  my  soul  I  can  only  remember  the 
little  one  at  the  end." 

**  Please,"  whispered  Jackanapes. 

Pressed  by  the  conviction  that  what  little 
he  could  do  it  was  his  duty  to  do,  the  Major 
—  kneeling  —  bared  his  head,  and  spoke  loudly, 
clearly,'  and  very  reverently  — 

"The  Grace  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ " 

Jackanapes  moved  his  left  hand  to  his  right 
one,  which  still  held  the  Major's  — 

"  —  The  love  of  God." 

And  with  that  —  Jackanapes  died. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

'^  Und  so  ist  der  blaue  Himmel  grosser  als  jedes 
Gewolk  darin,  und  dauerhafter  dazu." 
Jean  Paul  Richter. 


ACKANAPES'  death  was  sad 
news  for  the  Goose  Green, 
a  sorrow  just  qualified  by 
honorable  pride  in  his  gallantry  and 
devotion.  Only  the  Cobbler  dis- 
sented, but  that  was  his  way.  He 
said  he  saw  nothing  in  it  but  foolhardiness  and 
vainglory.  They  might  both  have  been  killed, 
as  easy  as  not,  and  then  where  would  ye 
have  been  ?  A  man's  life  was  a  man's  life, 
and  one  life  was  as  good  as  another.  •  No  one 
would  catch  him  throwing  his  away.  And,  for 
that  matter,  Mrs.  Johnson  could  spare  a  child 
a  great  deal  better  than  Miss  Jessamine. 
C72) 


LOLLO    THE    FIRST.  73 

But  the  parson  preached  Jackanapes'  funeral 
sermon  on  the  text,  "Whosoever  will  save  his 
life  shall  lose  it ;  and  whosoever  will  lose  his 
life  for  My  sake  shall  find  it ; "  and  all  the 
village  went  and  wept  to  hear  him. 

Nor  did  Miss  Jessamine  see  her  loss  from  the 
Cobbler's  point  of  view.  On  the  contrary,  Mrs. 
Johnson  said  she  never  to  her  dying  day  should 
forget  how,  when  she  went  to  condole  with 
her,  the  old  lady  came  forward,  with  gentle- 
womanly  self-control,  and  kissed  her,  and 
thanked  God  that  her  dear  nephew's  effort 
had  been  blessed  with  success,  and  that  this 
sad  war  had  made  no  gap  in  her  friend's  large 
and  happy  home  circle. 

"  But  she's  a  noble,  unselfish  woman,"  sobbed 
Mrs.  Johnson,  "and  she  taught  Jackanapes 
to  be  the  same,  and  that's  how  it  is  that 
my  Tony  has  been  spared  to  me.  And  it 
must  be  sheer  goodness  in  Miss  Jessamine, 
for  what  can  she  know  of  a  mother's  feelings  ? 
And  I'm  sure  most  people  seem  to  think  that  if 


74  JACKANAPES. 

you've  a  large  family  you  don't  know  one  from 
another  any  more  than  they  do,  and  that  a  lot 
of  children  are  like  a  lot  of  store-apples,  if 
one's  taken  it  won't  be  missed." 

Lollo  —  the  first  Lollo,  the  Gipsy's  Lollo  — 


^^^\//K^  '-^Z,/ 


very  aged,  draws  Miss  Jessamine's  bath-chair 
slowly  up  and  down  the  Goose  Green  in  the 
sunshine. 

The   Ex-postman   walks   beside    him,    which 
Lollo   tolerates   to   the   level   of    his   shoulder. 


A    TALE    OF    A    TWOPENNY    TRUMPET.  75 

If  the  Postman  advances  any  nearer  to  his 
head,  Lollo  quickens  his  pace,  and  were  the 
Postman  to  persist  in  the  injudicious  attempt, 
there  is,  as  Miss  Jessamine  says,  no  knowing 
what  might  happen. 

In  the  opinion  of  the  Goose  Green,  Miss 
Jessamine  has  borne  her  troubles  ''wonder- 
fully." Indeed,  to-day,  some  of  the  less  deli- 
cate and  less  intimate  of  those  who  see 
everything  from  the  upper  windows,  say  (well 
behind  her  back)  that  "the  old  lady  seems 
quite  lively  with  her  military  beaux  again." 

The  meaning  of  this  is,  that  Captain  John- 
son is  leaning  over  one  side  of  her  chair, 
whilst  by  the  other  bends  a  brother  officer 
who  is  staying  with  him,  and  who  has  mani- 
fested an  extraordinary  interest  in  Lollo.  He 
bends  lower  and  lower,  and  Miss  Jessamine 
calls  to  the  Postman  to  request  Lollo  to  be 
kind  enough  to  stop,  whilst  she  is  fumbling 
for  something  which  always  hangs  by  her  side, 
and  has  got  entangled  with  her  spectacles. 


^6  JACKANAPES. 

It  is  a  twopenny  trumpet,  bought  years 
ago  in  the  village  fair,  and  over  it  she  and 
Captain  Johnson  tell,  as  best  they  can,  be- 
tween them,  the  story  of  Jackanapes'  ride 
across  the  Goose  Green ;  and  how  he  won 
LoUo  —  the  Gipsy's  Lollo  —  the  racer  Lollo 
—  dear  Lollo —  faithful  Lollo  —  Lollo  the  never 
vanquished  —  Lollo  the  tender  servant  of  his 
old  mistress.  And  Lollo's  ears  twitch  at  every 
mention  of  his  name. 

Their  hearer  does  not  speak,  but  he  never 
moves  his  eyes  from  the  trumpet,  and  when 
the  tale  is  told,  he  lifts  Miss  Jessamine's 
hand  and  presses  his  heavy  black  moustache  in 
silence  to  her  trembling  fingers. 

The  sun,  setting  gently  to  his  rest,  embroiders 
the  sombre  foliage  of  the  oak-tree  with  threads 
of  gold.  The  Grey  Goose  is  sensible  of  an 
atmosphere  of  repose,  and  puts  up  one  leg  for 
the  night.  The  grass  glows  with  a  more  vivid 
green,  and,  in  answer  to  a  ringing  call  from 
Tony,   his   sisters,    fluttering   over   the   daisies 


DAS    SICHTBARE    1ST   ZEITLICH. 


77 


in  pale-hued  muslins,  come  out   of   their  ever- 
open  door,  like  pretty  pigeons  from  a  dovecote. 
And,  if  the  good  gossips'  eyes  do  not  deceive 
them,   all   the   Miss   Johnsons,  and    both    the 


officers,  go  wandering  off  into  the  lanes,  where 
bryony  wreaths  still  twine  about  the  brambles. 


•* 


A  sorrowful  story,  and  ending  badly } 
Nay,  Jackanapes,  for  the  end  is  not  yet. 


yS  JACKANAPES.    ' 

A  life  wasted  that  might  have  been  useful  ? 

Men  who  have  died  for  men,  in  all  ages,  for- 
give the  thought ! 

There  is  a  heritage  of  heroic  example  and 
noble  obligation,  not  reckoned  in  the  Wealth  of 
Nations,  but  essential  to  a  nation's  life  ;  the  con- 
tempt of  which,  in  any  people,  may,  not  slowly, 
mean  even  its  commercial  fall. 

Very  sweet  are  the  uses  of  prosperity,  the 
harvests  of  peace  and  progress,  the  fostering 
sunshine  of  health  and  happiness,  and  length  of 
days  in  the  land. 

But  there  be  things  —  oh,  sons  of  what  has 
deserved  the  name  of  Great  Britain,  forget  it 
not !  —  "  the  good  of  "  which  and  ''  the  use  of  " 
which  are  beyond  all  calculation  of  worldly 
goods  and  earthly  uses ;  things  such  as  Love, 
and  Honor,  and  the  Soul  of  Man,  which  cannot 
be  bought  with  a  price,  and  which  do  not  die 
with  death.  And  they  who  would  fain  live 
happily  ever  after,  should  not  leave  these 
things  out  of  the  lessons  of  their  lives. 


©ADPY  PAIRWB 
D0YECOT  ^ 

A   Couatry  Tale     by 
Author   of 


ILLUSTRATED 


(RANDOLPH 

Caldecott 


Ki/A../cy 


(79) 


DADDY  DARWIN'S  DOVECOT. 


3>*iC 


PREAMBLE. 


SUMMER'S  after- 
noon. Early  in 
the  summer,  and 
late  in  the  after- 
noon; with  odors 
and  colors  deep- 
ening, and  shad- 
ows lengthening, 
towards  evening. 
Two  gaffers 
gossiping,  seated 
side  by  side  upon  a  Yorkshire  wall.  A  wall  of 
sandstone  of  many  colors,  glowing  redder  and 
yellower  as  the  sun  goes  down ;  well  cushioned 

with   moss  and  lichen,   and  deep   set   in   rank 
(8i) 


''"'"■'^'SSi,, 


"iflll!!!,,,,.. 


82        DADDY  DARWIN's  DOVECOT. 

grass  on  this  side,  where  the  path  runs,  and  in 
blue  hyacinths  on  that  side,  where  the  wood  is, 
and  where — on  the  gray  and  still  naked  branches 
of  young  oaks  —  sit  divers  crows,  not  less  solemn 
than  the  gaffers,  and  also  gossiping. 

One  gaffer  in  work-day  clothes,  not  unpictu- 
resque  of  form  and  hue.  Gray,  home-knit  stock- 
ings, and  coat  and  knee-breeches  of  corduroy, 
which  takes  tints  from  Time  and  Weather  as 
harmoniously  as  wooden  palings  do  ;  so  that 
field  laborers  (like  some  insects)  seem  to  absorb 
or  mimic  the  colors  of  the  vegetation  round 
them  and  of  their  native  soil.  That  is,  on  work- 
days. Sunday-best  is  a  different  matter,  and  in 
this  the  other  gaffer  was  clothed.  He  was 
dressed  like  the  crows  above  him,j^^  excepted: 
the  reason  for  which  was,  that  he  was  only  a 
visitor,  a  revisitor  to  the  home  of  his  youth,  and 
wore  his  Sunday  (and  funeral)  suit  to  mark  the 
holiday. 

Continuing  the  path,  a  stone  pack-horse  track, 
leading  past  a  hedge  snow-white  with  may,  and 


DARBY    AND   JOAN.  83 

down  into  a  little  wood,  from  the  depths  of 
which  one  could  hear  a  brook  babbling.  Then 
up  across  the  sunny  field  beyond,  and  yet  up 
over  another  field  to  where  the  brow  of  the  hill 
is  crowned  by  old  farm-buildings  standing 
against  the  sky. 

Down  this  stone  path  a  young  man  going 
whistling  home  to  tea.  Then  staying  to  bend  a 
swarthy  face  to  the  white  may  to  smell  it,  and 
then  plucking  a  huge  branch  on  which  the  blos- 
som lies  like  a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  and  throwing 
that  aside  for  a  better,  and  tearing  off  another 
and  yet  another,  with  the  prodigal  recklessness 
of  a  pauper  ;  and  so,  whistling,  on  into  the  wood 
with  his  arms  full. 

Down  the  sunny  field,  as  he  goes  up  it,  a 
woman  coming  to  meet  him  —  with  her  arms 
full.  Filled  by  a  child  with  a  may-white  frock, 
and  hair  shining  with  the  warm  colors  of 
the  sandstone.  A  young  woman,  having  a  fair 
forehead  visible  a  long  way  off,  and  buxom 
cheeks,  and  steadfast  eyes.     When   they  meet 


84  DADDY  Darwin's  dovecot. 

he  kisses  her,  and  she  pulls  his  dark  hair  and 
smooths  her  own,  and  cuffs  him  in  country  fash- 
ion. Then  they  change  burdens,  and  she  takes 
the  may  into  her  apron  (stooping  to  pick  up 
fallen  bits),  and  the  child  sits  on  the  man's 
shoulder,  and  cuffs  and  lugs  its  father  as  the 
mother  did,  and  is  chidden  by  her  and  kissed  by 
him.  And  all  the  babbling  of  their  chiding  and 
crowing  and  laughter  comes  across  the  babbling 
of  the  brook  to  the  ears  of  the  old  gaffers  gos- 
siping on  the  wall. 

Gaffer  I.  spits  out  an  over-munched  stalk  of 
meadow  soft-grass,  and  speaks  : 

"  D'ye  see  yon  chap }  " 

Gaffer  II.  takes  up  his  hat  and  wipes  it 
round  with  a  spotted  handkerchief  (for  your 
Sunday  hat  is  a  heating  thing  for  work-day 
wear)  and  puts  it  on,  and  makes  reply  : 

"  Aye.  But  he  beats  me.  And  —  see 
there! — he's  t'  first  that's  beat  me  yet.  Why, 
lad  !  I've  met  young  chaps  to-day  I  could  ha' 
sworn  to  for  mates  of  mine  forty  years  back  — 


\:i\ 


What  do  they  call  Mm  9 ' 


85 

if  I  hadn't  ha'  been  i'  t'  churchyard  spelling 
over  their  fathers'  tumstuns !  " 

"Aye.  There's  a  many  old  standards  gone 
home  o'  lately." 

"  What  do  they  call  him  f  " 

"T'young  chap?" 

**Aye." 

"They  call  him  —  Darwin." 

"  Dar  —  win  .<*  I  ^should  know  a  Darwin. 
They're  old  standards,  is  Darwins.  What's  he 
to  Daddy  Darwin  of  t'  Dovecot  yonder.?" 

"He  owns  t'  Dovecot.     Did  ye  see  t'  lass.?" 

"Aye.     Shoo's  his  missus,  I  reckon?" 

"Aye." 

"What  did  they  call  her?" 

"  Phoebe  Shaw  they  called  her.  And  if  she'd 
been  my  lass  —  but  that's  nother  here  nor  there, 
and  he's  got  t'  Dovecot." 

"Shaw?  They  re  old  standards,  is  Shaws. 
Phoebe  ?  They  called  her  mother  Phoebe. 
Phoebe  Johnson.  She  were  a  dainty  lass !  My 
father  were  very  fond  of  Phoebe  Johnson.     He 


86  DADDY    DARWIN's    DOVECOT, 

said  she  alius  put  him  i'  mind  of  our  orchard  on 
drying  days ;  pink  and  white  apple-blossom  and 
clean  clothes.  And  yon's  her  daughter  ? 
Where  d'ye  say  t 'young  chap  come  from  ?  He 
don't  look  like  hereabouts." 

"He  don't  come  from  hereabouts.  And  yet 
he  do  come  from  hereabouts,  as  one  may  say. 
Look  ye  here.  He  come  from  t'  wukhus. 
That's  the  short  and  the  long  of  it." 

^^  The  workhouse  f 

"Aye." 

Stupefaction.  The  crows  chattering  wildly 
overhead. 

"  And  he  owns  Darwin's  Dovecot  ? " 

"  He  owns  Darwin's  Dovecot." 

"  And  how  i'  t'  name  o'  all  things  did  that 
come  about } " 

"Why,  I'll  tell  thee.  It  was  i'  this  fashion." 
******* 

Not  without  reason  does  the  wary  writer  put 
gossip  in  the  mouths  of  gaffers  rather  than  of 
gammers.     Male  gossips  love  scandal  as  dearly 


THE  LONG  AND  THE  SHORT  OF  IT.     ^y 

as  female  gossips  do,  and  they  bring  to  it 
the  stronger  relish  and  energies  of  their  sex. 
But  these  were  country  gaffers,  whose  speech 
— like  shadows  —  grows  lengthy  in  the  leis- 
urely hours  of  eventide.  The  gentle  reader 
shall  have  the  tale  in  plain  narration. 

Note. —  It  will  be  plain  to  the  reader  that  the  birds  here  de- 
scribed are  Rooks  {corvus  frugilegus).  I  have  allowed  myself  to 
speak  of  them  by  their  generic  or  family  name  of  Crow,  this 
being  a  common  country  practice.  The  genus  corvus,  or  Crow, 
includes  the  Raven,  the  Carrion  Crow,  the  Hooded  Crow,  the 
Jackdaw,  and  the  Rook. 


SCENE   I. 


NE  Saturday  night  (some 
eighteen  years  earlier  than 
the  date  of  this 
gaffer-gossiping) 
the  parson's 
daughter  sat  in 
her  own  room 
before  the  open 
drawer  of  a  ban- 
dy-legged black 
oak  table,  bal- 
\3iP^^^  ancing  her  bags. 

The  bags  were  money-bags,  and  the  matter  shall 
be  made  clear  at  once. 

In  this  parish,  as  in  others,  progress  and  the 
multiplication  of  weapons  with  which  civiliza- 
tion and  the   powers   of   goodness   push   their 

conquests   over   brutality  and    the    powers   of 

(88) 


BAG-KEEPING    V.    BOOK-KEEPING.  89 

evil,  had  added  to  the  original  duties  of  the 
parish  priest,  a  multifarious  and  all  but  im- 
practicable variety  of  offices ;  which,  in  ordi- 
nary and  lai"c  conditions,  would  have  been 
performed  by  several  more  or  less  salaried 
clerks,  bankers,  accountants,  secretaries,  libra- 
rians, club-committees,  teachers,  lecturers,  dis- 
count for  ready-money  dealers  in  clothing, 
boots,  blankets,  and  coal,  domestic-servant 
agencies,  caterers  for  the  public  amusement, 
and  preservers  of  the  public  peace. 

The  country  parson  (no  less  than  statesmen 
and  princes,  than  men  of  science  and  of  letters) 
is  responsible  for  a  great  deal  of  his  work  that 
is  really  done  by  the  help-mate  —  woman. 
This  explains  why  five  out  of  the  young  lady's 
money-bags  bore  the  following  inscriptions 
in  marking-ink :  "  Savings'  bank,"  "  Clothing 
club,"  "  Library,"  *'  Magazines  and  hymn- 
books,"  ''Three-halfpenny  club" — and  only 
three  bore  reference  to  private  funds,  as  — 
"  House-money  "  —  "  Allowance  "  —  "  Charity." 


go  DADDY    DARWIN  S    DOVECOT. 

It  was  the  bag  bearing  this  last  and  greatest 
name  which  the  parson's  daughter  now  seized 
and  emptied  into  her  lap.  A  ten-shilling  piece, 
some  small  silver,  and  twopence  halfpenny 
jingled  together,  and  roused  a  silver-haired, 
tawny-pawed  terrier,  who  left  the  hearthrug 
and  came  to  smell  what  was  the  matter.  His 
mistress's  right  hand — absently  caressing  — 
quieted  his  feelings ;  and  with  the  left  she 
held  the  ten-shilHng  piece  between  finger  and 
thumb,  and  gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  other 
bags  as  they  squatted  in  a  helpless  row,  with 
twine-tied  mouths  hanging  on  all  sides.  It  was 
only  after  anxious  consultation  with  an  account- 
book  that  the  half-sovereign  was  exchanged  for 
silver ;  thanks  to  the  clothing-club  bag,  which 
looked  leaner  for  the  accommodation.  In  the 
three-halfpenny  bag  (which  bulged  with  pence) 
some  silver  was  further  solved  into  copper,  and 
the  charity  bag  was  handsomely  distended  be- 
fore the  whole  lot  was  consigned  once  more 
to  the  table-drawer. 


SATURDAY    NIGHT.  QI 

Any  one  accustomed  to  book-keeping  must 
smile  at  this  bag-keeping  of  accounts ;  but 
the  parson's  daughter  could  never  "bring  her 
mind "  to  keeping  the  funds  apart  on  paper, 
and  mixing  the  actual  cash.  Indeed,  she 
could  never  have  brought  her  conscience  to 
it.  Unless  she  had  taken  the  tenth  for 
"charity"  from  her  dress  and  pocket-money 
in  coin,  and  put  it  then  and  there  into  the 
charity  bag,  this  self-imposed  rule  of  the  duty 
of  almsgiving  would  not  have  been  performed 
to  her  soul's  peace. 

The  problem  which  had  been  exercising  her 
mind  that  Saturday  night  was  how  to  spend 
what  was  left  of  her  benevolent  fund  in  a 
treat  for  the  children  of  the  neighboring  work- 
house. The  fund  was  low,  and  this  had  decided 
the  matter.  The  following  Wednesday  would 
be  her  twenty-first  birthday.  If  the  children 
came  to  tea  with  her,  the  foundation  of  the 
entertainment  would,  in  the  natural  course  of 
things,  be  laid  in  the  Vicarage  kitchen.     The 


92  DADDY    DARWIN  S    DOVECOT., 

charity  bag  would  provide  the  extras  of  the 
feast.     Nuts,  toys,  and  the  like. 

When  the  parson's  daughter  locked  the 
drawer  of  the  bandy-legged  table,  she  did  so 
with  the  vigor  of  one  who  has  made  up  her 
mind,  and  set  about  the  rest  of  her  Saturday 
night's  duties  without  further  delay. 

She  put  out  her  Sunday  clothes,  and  her 
Bible  and  Prayer-book,  and  class-book  and  pen- 
cil, on  the  oak  chest  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 
She  brushed  and  combed  the  silver-haired  ter- 
rier, who  looked  abjectly  depressed  whilst  this 
was  doing,  and  preposterously  proud  when  it 
was  done.  She  washed  her  own  hair,  and 
studied  her  Sunday-school  lesson  for  the  mor- 
row whilst  it  was  drying.  She  spread  a  colored 
quilt  at  the  foot  of  her  white  one,  for  the  terrier 
to  sleep  on  —  a  slur  which  he  always  deeply 
resented. 

Then  she  went  to  bed,  and  slept  as  one  ought 
to  sleep  on  Saturday  night,  who  is  bound  to  be 
at  the  Sunday  School  by  9.15  on  the  following 


SATURDAY    NIGHT.  93 

morning,  with  a  clear  mind  on  the  Rudiments 
of  the  Faith,  the  history  of  the  Prophet  Elisha, 
and  the  destinations  of  each  of  the  parish 
magazines. 


SCENE   11. 


^-liT^"-^';  AT  H  E  RL  E  S  S  — 

{      vT^^^.'.         motherless  —  home- 


iA-^ 


less ! 

A  little  work- 
house-boy, with 
a  swarthy  face 
and  tidily- 
cropped  black 
hair,  as  short 
and  thick  as  the 
fur  of  a  mole,  was 
grubbing,  not 
quite  so  cleverly 
as  a  mole,  in 
the  workhouse 
garden. 

He  had  been 
set  to  weed,  but 
the  weeding  was  very  irregularly  performed,  for 

(94) 


A   LITTLE   WORKHOUSE   BOY.  95 

his  eyes  and  heart  were  in  the  clouds,  as  he 
could  see  them  over  the  big  boundary  wall. 
For  there  —  now  dark  against  the  white,  now 
white  against  the  gray  —  some  Air  Tumbler 
pigeons  were  turning  somersaults  on  their 
homeward  way,  at  such  short  and  regular  inter- 
vals that  they  seemed  to  be  tying  knots  in 
their  lines  of  flight. 

It  was  too  much  !  The  small  gardener  shame- 
lessly abandoned  his  duties,  and,  curving  his 
dirty  paws  on  each  side  of  his  mouth,  threw  his 
whale  soul  into  shouting  words  of  encourage- 
ment to  the  distant  birds. 

"  That's  a  good  un  !  On  with  thee !  Over 
ye  go  !     Oo  —  ooray !  " 

It  was  this  last  prolonged  cheer  which 
drowned  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  path 
behind  him,  so  that  if  he  had  been  a  tum- 
bler pigeon  himself  he  could  not  have  jumped 
more  nimbly  when  a  man's  hand  fell  upon  his 
shoulder.  Up  went  his  arms  to  shield  his  ears 
from  a  well-merited  cuffing  ;  but  fate  was  kinder 


96  DADDY  Darwin's  dovecot. 

to  him  than  he  deserved.  It  was  only  an  old 
man  (prematurely  aged  with  drink  and  conse- 
quent poverty),  whose  faded  eyes  seemed  to 
rekindle  as  he  also  gazed  after  the  pigeons, 
and  spoke  as  one  who  knows. 

"  Yon's  Daddy  Darwin's  Tumblers." 
This  old  pauper  had  only  lately  come  into 
"the  House"  (the  house  that  never  was  a 
home !),  and  the  boy  clung  eagerly  to  his 
flannel  sleeve,  and  plied  him  thick  and  fast 
with  questions  about  the  world  without  the 
workhouse-walls,  and  about  the  happy  owner 
of  those  yet  happier  creatures  who  were  free 
not  only  on  the  earth  but  in  the  skies. 

The  poor  old  pauper  was  quite  as  willing  to 
talk  as  the  boy  was  to  listen.  It  restored  some 
of  that  self-respect  which  we  lose  under  the 
consequences  of  our  follies  to  be  able  to  say 
that  Daddy  Darwin  and  he  had  been  mates 
together,  and  had  had  pigeon-fancying  in  com- 
mon "  many  a  long  year  afore "  he  came  into 
the  House. 


GOD  S  POOR  AND  THE  DEVIL  S  POOR.    9/ 

And  so  these  two  made  friendship  over  such 
matters  as  will  bring  man  and  boy  together  to 
the  end  of  time.  And  the  old  pauper  waxed 
eloquent  on  the  feats  of  Homing  Birds  and 
Tumblers,  and  on  the  points  of  Almohds  and 
Barbs,  Fantails  and  Pouters ;  sprinkling  his 
narrative  also  with  high  sounding  and  heteroge- 
neous titles,  such  as  Dragons  and  Archangels, 
Blue  Owls  and  Black  Priests,  Jacobines,  Eng- 
lish Horsemen  and  Trumpeters.  And  through 
much  boasting  of  the  high  stakes  he  had  had 
on  this  and  that  pigeon-match  then,  and  not 
a  few  bitter  complaints  of  the  harsh  hospitality 
of  the  House  he  '*  had  come  to  "  now,  it  never 
seemed  to  occur  to  him  to  connect  the  two, 
or  to  warn  the  lad  who  hung  upon  his  lips  that 
one  cannot  eat  his  cake  with  the  rash  appetites 
of  youth,  and  yet  hope  to  have  it  for  the  sup- 
port and  nourishment  of  his  old  age. 

The  longest  story  the  old  man  told  was  of 
a  "bit  of  a  trip"  he  had  made  to  Liverpool,  to 
see  some  Antwerp  Carriers  flown  from  thence 


98  '    DADDY    DARWIN's    DOVECOT. 

to  Ghent,  and  he  fixed  the  date  of  this  by 
remembering  that  his  twin  sons  were  born 
in  his  absence,  and  that  though  their  birthday 
was  the  very  day  of  the  race,  his  "  missus 
turned  stoopid,"  as  women  (he  warned  the 
boy)  are  apt  to  do,  and  refused  to  have  them 
christened  by  uncommon  names  connected  with 
the  fancy.  All  the  same,  he  bet  the  lads  would 
have  been  nicknamed  the  Antwerp  Carriers, 
and  known  as  such  to  the  day  of  their  death, 
if  this  had  not  come  so  soon  and  so  suddenly, 
of  croup ;  when  (as  it  oddly  chanced)  he  was 
off  on  another  '*bit  of  a  holiday"  to  fly  some 
pigeons  of  his  own  in  Lincolnshire. 

This  tale  had  not  come  to  an  end  when  a 
voice  of  authority  called  for  "  Jack  March,"  who 
rubbed  his  mole-like  head  and  went  ruefully  off, 
muttering  that  he  should  "catch  it  now." 

"Sure  enough!  sure  enough!"  chuckled  the 
unamiable  old  pauper. 

But  again  Fate  was  kinder  to  the  lad  than 
his  friend.     His  negligent  weeding  passed  un- 


(99) 


lOO  DADDY    DARWIN  S    DOVECOT. 

noticed,  because  he  was  wanted  in  a  hurry  to 
join  the  other  children  in  the  school-room.  The 
parson's  daughter  had  come,  the  children  were 
about  to  sing  to  her,  and  Jack's  voice  could 
not  be  dispensed  with. 

He  ''cleaned  himself"  with  alacrity,  and 
taking  his  place  in  the  circle  of  boys  standing 
with  their  hands  behind  their  backs,  he  lifted 
up  a  voice  worthy  of  a  cathedral  choir,  whilst 
varying  the  monotony  of  sacred  song  by  secretly 
snatching  at  the  tail  of  the  terrier  as  it  went 
snuffing  round  the  legs  of  the  group.  And  in 
this  feat  he  proved  as  much  superior  to  the 
rest  of  the  boys  (who  also  tried  it)  as  he  ex- 
celled them  in  the  art  of  singing. 

Later  on  he  learnt  that  the  young  lady  had 
come  to  invite  them  all  to  have  tea  with  her 
on  her  birthday.  Later  still  he  found  the  old 
pauper  once  more,  and  questioned  him  closely 
about  the  village  and  the  Vicarage,  and  as 
to  which  of  the  parishioners  kept  pigeons,  and 
where. 


CASTLES    IN    THE    AIR.  lOI 

And  when  he  went  to  his  straw  bed  that 
night,  and  his  black  head  throbbed  with  visions 
and  high  hopes,  these  were  not  entirely  of  the 
honor  of  drinking  tea  with  a  pretty  young 
lady,  and  how  one  should  behave  himself  in 
such  abashing  circumstances.  He  did  not  even 
dream  principally  of  the  possibility  of  getting 
hold  of  that  silver-haired,  tawny-pawed  dog 
by  the  tail  under  freer  conditions  than  those 
of  this  afternoon,  though  that  was  a  refresh- 
ing thought. 

What  kept  him  long  awake  was  thinking 
of  this.  From  the  top  of  an  old  walnut-tree 
at  the  top  of  a  field  at  the  back  of  the  Vicar- 
age, you  could  see  a  hill,  and  on  the  top  of  the 
hill  some  farm  buildings.  And  it  was  here 
(so  the  old  pauper  had  told  him)  that  those 
pretty  pigeons  lived,  who,  though  free  to  play 
about  among  the  clouds,  yet  condescended  to 
make  an  earthly  home  —  in  Daddy  Darwin's 
Dovecot. 


SCENE    III. 


'^j^WO  and  two,  girls  and 
boys,  the  young  lady's 
guests  marched 
down  to  the  Vic- 
arage. The  school- 
mistress was  anx- 
ious that  each 
^L^  should  carry  his 
and  her  tin  mug,  so  as  to  give  as  little  trouble 
as  possible ;  but  this  was  resolutely  declined, 
much  to  the  children's  satisfaction,  who  had 
their  walk  with  free  hands,  and  their  tea  out 
of  teacups  and  saucers  like  anybody  else. 

It  was  a  fine  day,  and  all  went  well.  The 
children  enjoyed  themselves,  and  behaved  ad- 
mirably into  the  bargain.  There  was  only  one 
suspicion    of   misconduct,  and   the  matter  was 

(102) 


THERE  S    KINSHIP    IN    TROUBLE.  IO3 

SO  far  from  clear  that  the  parson's  daughter 
hushed  it  up,  and,  so  to  speak,  dismissed  the 
case. 

The  children  were  playing  at  some  game  in 
which  Jack  March  was  supposed  to  excel,  but 
when  they  came  to  look  for  him  he  could  no- 
where be  found.  At  last  he  was  discovered, 
high  up  among  the  branches  of  an  old  walnut- 
tree  at  the  top  of  the  field,  and  though  his 
hands  were  unstained  and  his  pockets  empty, 
the  gardener,  who  had  been  the  first  to  spy 
him,  now  loudly  denounced  him  as  an  ungrate- 
ful young  thief.  Jack,  with  swollen  eyes  and 
cheeks  besmirched  with  angry  tears,  was  vehe- 
mently declaring  that  he  had  only  climbed 
the  tree  to  "have  a  look  at  Master  Darwin's 
pigeons,"  and  had  not  picked  so  much  as  a 
leaf,  let  alone  a  walnut ;  and  the  gardener, 
"  shaking  the  truth  out  of  him  "  by  the  collar 
of  his  fustian  jacket,  was  preaching  loudly  on 
the  sin  of  adding  falsehood  to  theft,  when  the 
parson's   daughter   came  up,  and,  in   the   end, 


104  DADDY    DARWIN's    DOVECOT. 

acquitted  poor  Jack,  and  gave  him  leave  to 
amuse  himself  as  he  pleased. 

It  did  not  please  Jack  to  play  with  his  com- 
rades just  then.  He  felt  sulky  and  aggrieved. 
He  would  have  liked  to  play  with  the  terrier 
who  had  stood  by  him  in  his  troubles,  and 
barked  at  the  gardener;  but  that  little  friend 
now  trotted  after  his  mistress,  who  had  gone 
to  choir-practice. 

Jack  wandered  about  among  the  shrubberies. 
By-and-by  he  heard  sounds  of  music,  and  led 
by  these  he  came  to  a.  gate  in  a  wall,  divid- 
ing the  Vicarage  garden  from  the  churchyard. 
Jack  loved  music,  and  the  organ  and  the  voices 
drew  him  on  till  he  reached  the  church  porch  ; 
but  there  he  was  startled  by  a  voice  that  was 
not  only  not  the  voice  of  song,  but  was  the 
utterance  of  a  moan  so  doleful  that  it  seemed 
the  outpouring  of  all  his  lonely,  and  outcast, 
and  injured  feelings  in  one  comprehensive 
howl. 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  silver-haired  terrier. 


there's  kinship  in  trouble.  105 

He  was  sitting  in  the  porch,  his  nose  up,  his 
ears  down,  his  eyes  shut,  his  mouth  open, 
bewaiUng  in  bitterness  of  spirit  the  second 
and  greater  crook  of  his  lot. 

To  what  purpose  were  all  the  caresses  and 
care  and  indulgence  of  his  mistress,  the  daily 
walks,  the  weekly  washings  and  combings,  the 
constant  companionship,  when  she  betrayed 
her  abiding  sense  of  his  inferiority,  first,  by 
not  letting  him  sleep  on  the  white  quilt, 
and  secondly,  by  never  allowing  him  to  go 
to  church  ? 

Jack  shared  the  terrier's  mood.  What  were 
tea  and  plum-cake  to  him,  when  his  pauper- 
breeding  was  so  stamped  upon  him  that  the 
gardener  was  free  to  say  —  "A  nice  tale  too ! 
What's  thou  to  do  wi'  doves,  and  thou  a 
work' us  lad  ? "  — and  to  take  for  granted  that  he 
would  thieve  and  lie  if  he  got  the  chance  ? 

His  disabilities  were  not  the  dog's,  however. 
The  parish  church  was  his  as  well  as  another's, 
and  he  crept  inside  and  leaned  against  one  of 


I06  DADDY    DARWIN's    DOVECOT. 

the  stone  pillars,  as  if  it  were  a  big,  calm 
friend. 

Far  away,  under  the  transept,  a  group  of 
boys  and  men  held  their  music  near  to  their 
faces  in  the  waning  light.  Among  them 
towered  the  burly  choirmaster,  baton  in  hand. 
The  parson's  daughter  was  at  the  organ.  Well 
accustomed  to  produce  his  voice  to  good  pur- 
pose, the  choirmaster's  words  were  clearly  to 
be  heard  throughout  the  building,  and  it  was 
on  the  subject  of  articulation  and  emphasis, 
and  the  like,  that  he  was  speaking  ;  now  and 
then  throwing  in  an  extra  aspirate  in  the 
energy  of  that  enthusiasm  without  which  teach- 
ing is  not  worth  the  name. 

"That'll  not  do.  We  must  have  it  alto- 
gether different.  You  two  lads  are  singing  like 
bumble-bees  in  a  pitcher — border  there,  boys! 
— it's  no  laughing  matter  —  put  down  those 
papers  and  keep  your  eyes  on  me  —  inflate 
the  chest  — "  (his  own  seemed  to  fill  the  field 
of    vision)    "and    try    and    give    forth    those 


A   CHOIR   PRACTICE.  lO/ 

noble  words  as  if  you'd  an  idea  what  they 
meant." 

No  satire  was  intended  or  taken  here,  but 
the  two  boys,  who  were  practising  their  duet 
in  an  anthem,  laid  down  the  music,  and  turned 
their  eyes  on  their  teacher. 

"I'll  run  through  the  recitative,"  he  added, 
"and  take  your  time  from  the  stick.  And 
mind  that  Oh." 

The  parson's  daughter  struck  a  chord,  and 
then  the  burly  choirmaster  spoke  with  the  voice 
of  melody : 

"My  heart  is  disquieted  within  me.  My 
heart  —  my  heart  is  disquieted  within  me. 
And  the  fear  of  death  is  fallen  —  is  fallen 
upon  me." 

The  terrier  moaned  without,  and  Jack 
thought  no  boy's  voice  could  be  worth  listening 
to  after  that  of  the  choirmaster.  But  he  was 
wrong.  A  few  more  notes  from  the  organ, 
and  then,  as  night-stillness  in  a  wood  is  broken 
by  the  nightingale,  so  upon  the  silence  of  the 


I08       DADDY  DARWIN's  DOVECOT. 

* 

church  a  boy-alto's  voice  broke  forth  in  obe- 
dience to  the  choirmaster's  uplifted  hand : 

^*  Thefiy  I  said — I  said " 

Jack  gasped,  but  even  as  he  strained  his  eyes 
to  see  what  such  a  singer  could  look  Hke,  with 
higher,  clearer  notes  the  soprano  rose  above 
him  —  "Then  I  sa — a — id,"  and  the  duet 
began : 

"Oh  that  I  had  wings  —  O  that  I  had  wings 
like  a  dove  !  " 

Soprano.  —  "  Then  would  I  flee  away."  Alto. 
—  "Then  would  I  flee  away."  Together. — 
"And  be  at  rest — flee  away  and  be  at  rest." 

The  clear  young  voices  soared  and  chased 
each  other  among  the  arches,  as  if  on  the  very 
pinions  for  which  they  prayed.  Then  —  swept 
from  their  seats  by  an  upward  sweep  of  the 
choirmaster's  arms  —  the  chorus  rose,  as  birds 
rise,  and  carried  on  the  strain. 

It  was  not  a  very  fine  composition,  but  this 
final  chorus  had  the  singular  charm  of  fugue. 
And  as  the  voices   mourned   like   doves,  "Oh 


REQUIEM    ETERNAM    DONA    EIS  !  IO9 

that  I  had  wings !  "  and  pursued  each  other 
with  the  plaintive  passage,  "  Then  would  I  flee 

away  —  then   would   I   flee   away ,"   Jack's 

ears  knew  no  weariness  of  the  repetition.  It 
was  strangely  like  watching  the  rising  and  fall- 
ing of  Daddy  Darwin's  pigeons,  as  they  tossed 
themselves  by  turns  upon  their  homeward 
flight. 

After  the  fashion  of  the  piece  an'd  period,  the 
chorus  was  repeated,  and  the  singers  rose  to 
supreme  effort.  The  choirmaster's  hands  flashed 
hither  and  thither,  controlling,  inspiring,  direct- 
ing.    He  sang  among  the  tenors. 

Jack's  voice  nearly  choked  him  with  longing 
to  sing  too.  Could  words  of  man  go  more 
deeply  home  to  a  young  heart  caged  within 
workhouse  walls  ? 

**0h  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove!  Then 
would  I  flee  away  — "  the  choirmaster's  white 
hands  were  fluttering  downwards  in  the  dusk, 
and  the  chorus  sank  with  them  —  *'  flee  away 
and  be  at  rest !  " 


SCENE   IV. 


ACK     MARCH 

had  a  busy  little 
brain,  and  his  na- 
ture was  not  of 
the  limp  type  that 
sits  down  with  a 
grief.  That  most 
memorable  tea- 
party  had  fired  his 
soul  with  two  dis- 
tinct ambitions. 
First,  to  be  a  choirboy ;  and,  secondly,  to  dwell 
in  Daddy  Darwin's  Dovecot.  He  turned  the 
matter  over  in  his  mind,  and  patched  together 
the  following  facts  : 

The  Board  of  Guardians  meant  to  apprentice 
him.   Jack,   to   some    master,    at    the    earliest 
(no) 


(Ill) 


112  daddV  darwin's  dovecot. 

opportunity.  Daddy  Darwin  (so  the  old  pauper 
told  him)  was  a  strange  old  man,  who  had  come 
down  in  the  world,  and  now  lived  quite  alone, 
with  not  a  soul  to  help  him  in  the  house  or  out- 
side it.  He  was  '*  not  to  say  mazelin  yet,  but 
getting  helpless,  and  uncommon  mean." 

A  nephew  came  one  fine  day  and  fetched 
away  the  old  pauper,  to  his  great  delight.  It 
was  by  their  hands  that  Jack  despatched  a  let- 
ter, which  the  nephew  stamped  and  posted  for 
him,  and  which  was  duly  delivered  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning  to  Mr.  Darwin  of  the  Dovecot. 

The  old  man  had  no  correspondents,  and  he 
looked  long  at  the  letter  before  he  opened  it. 
It  did  credit  to  the  teaching  of  the  workhouse 
schoolmistress : 

"  Honored  Sir, 

"  They  call  me  Jack  March.  Fm  a  workhouse  lad,  but, 
Sir,  Fm  a  good  one,  and  the  Board  means  to  'prentice  me 
next  time.  Sir,  if  you  face  the  Board  and  take  me  out  you 
shall  never  regret  it.  Though  I  says  it  as  shouldn't  I'm 
a  handy  lad.  I'll  clean  a  floor  with  any  one,  and  am  will- 
ing to  work  early  and  late,  and  at  your  time  of  life  you're 


DO    WELL    AND    DOUBT    NOT.  II3 

not  what  you  was,  and  them  birds  must  take  a  deal  of 
seeing  to.  I  can  see  them  from  the  garden  when  I'm  set 
to  weed,  and  I  never  saw  nought  like  them.  Oh,  sir,  I  do 
beg  and  pray  you  let  me  mind  your  pigeons.  You'll  be 
none  the  worse  of  a  lad  about  the  place,  and  I  shall  be 
happy  all  the  days  of  my  life.  Sir,  I'm  not  unthankful, 
but,  please  God,  I  should  like  to  have  a  home,  and  to  be 
with  them  house  doves. 

"  From  your  humble  servant  —  hoping  to  be  — 

"JACK  MARCH. 

"  Mr.  Darwin,  Sir.  I  love  them  Tumblers  as  if  they  was 
my  own." 

Daddy  Darwin  thought  hard  and  thought 
long  over  that  letter.  He  changed  his  mind 
fifty  times  a  day.  But  Friday  was  the  Board 
day,  and  when  Friday  came  he  "faced  the 
Board.".  And  the  little  workhouse  lad  went 
home  to  Daddy  Darwin's  Dovecot. 


SCENE    V. 


HE  bargain  was 
oddly  made,  but 
it  worked  well. 
Whatever  Jack's 
parentage  may 
have  been  (and  he  was  named  after  the  stormy 
month  in  which  he  had  been  born),  the  blood 
that  ran  in  his  veins  could  not  have  been 
beggars'  blood.  There  was  no  hopeless,  shift- 
less, invincible  idleness  about  him.  He  found 
work  for  himself  when  it  was  not  given  him 
to  do,  and  he  attached  himself  passionately 
and  proudly  to  all  the  belongings  of  his  new 

home. 

(114) 


HAE    YE    GEAR,    HAE    YE    NANE.  II5 

"Yon  lad  of  yours  seem  handy  enough, 
Daddy;  —  for  a  vagrant,  as  one  may  say." 

Daddy  Darwin  was  smoking  over  his  garden 
wall,  and  Mrs.  Shaw,  from  the  neighboring 
farm,  had  paused  in  her  walk  for  a  chat.  She 
was  a  notable  housewife,  and  there  was  just  a 
touch  of  envy  in  her  sense  of  the  improved 
appearance  of  the  doorsteps  and  other  visible 
points  of  the  Dovecot.  Daddy  Darwin  took 
his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  to  make  way  for  the 
force  of  his  reply: 

"  Vagrant !  Nay,  missus,  yon's  no  vagrant. 
He  s  fettling  up  all  along.  Jack's  the  sort  if  he 
finds  a  key  he'll  look  for  the  lock ;  if  ye  give 
him  a  knife-blade  he'll  fashion  a  heft.  Why,  a 
vagrant's  a  chap  that,  if  he'd  all  your  maester 
owns  to-morrow,  he'd  be  on  the  tramp  again 
afore  t*  year  were  out,  and  three  years  wouldn't 
repair  the  mischief  he'd  leave  behind  him.  A 
vagrant's  a  chap  that  if  ye  lend  him  a  thing  he 
loses  it ;  if  ye  give  him  a  thing  he  abuses 
it " 


Il6  DADDY    DARWIN's    DOVECOT. 

'*' That's  true  enough,  and  there's  plenty 
servant-girls  the  same,"  put  in  Mrs.  Shaw. 

"  Maybe  there  be,  ma'am  —  maybe  there  be; 
vagrants'    children,    I    reckon.     But   yon   little 
chap  I  got  from  t'  House  comes  of  folk  that's 
had  stuff   o'    their   own,    and   cared   for   it  — 
choose  who  they  were." 

"Well,  Daddy,"  said  his  neighbor,  not  with- 
out malice,  *'  I'll  wish  you  a  good  evening. 
You've  got  a  good  bargain  out  of  the  parish, 
it  seems." 

But  Daddy  Darwin  only  chuckled,  and  stirred 
up  the  ashes  in  the  bowl  of  his  pipe. 

''  The  same  to  you,  ma'am  —  the  same  to 
you.  Aye  !  he's  a  good  bargain  — a  very  good 
bargain  is  Jack  March." 

It  might  be  supposed  from  the  foregoing 
dialogue  that  Daddy  Darwin  was  a  model 
householder,  and  the  little  workhouse  boy  the 
neatest  creature  breathing.  But  the  gentle 
reader  who  may  imagine  this  is  much  mistaken. 

Daddy  Darwin's  Dovecot  was   freehold,  and 


HAE  YE  GEAR,  HAE  YE  NANE.      11/ 

when  he  inherited  it  from  his  father  there  was 
still  attached  to  it  a  good  bit  of  the  land  that 
had  passed  from  father  to  son  through  more 
generations  than  the  church  registers  were  old 
enough  to  record.  But  the  few  remaining 
acres  were  so  heavily  mortgaged  that  they  had 
to  be  sold.  So  that  a  bit  of  house  property 
elsewhere,  and  the  old  homestead  itself,  were 
all  that  was  left.  And  Daddy  Darwin  had 
never  been  the  sort  of  man  to  retrieve  his  luck 
at  home,  or  to  seek  it  abroad. 

That  he  had  inherited  a  somewhat  higher  and 
more  refined  nature  than  his  neighbors  had 
rather  hindered  than  helped  him  to  prosper. 
And  he  had  been  unlucky  in  love.  When  what 
energies  he  had  were  in  their  prime,  his  father's 
death  left  him  with  such  poor  prospects  that  the 
old  farmer  to  whose  daughter  he  was  betrothed 
broke  off  the  match  and  married  her  elsewhere. 
His  Alice  was  not  long  another  man's  wife. 
She  died  within  a  year  from  her  wedding-day, 
and  her  husband  married  again  within  a  year 


Il8  DADDY    DARWIN's    DOVECOT. 

from  her  death.  Her  old  lover  was  no  better 
able  to  mend  his  broken  heart  than  his  broken 
fortunes.  He  only  banished  women  from  the 
Dovecot,  and  shut  himself  up  from  the  coarse 
consolation  of  his  neighbors. 

In  this  loneliness,  eating  a  kindly  heart  out 
in  bitterness  of  spirit,  with  all  that  he  ought  to 
have  had  — 

To  plough  and  sow 

And  reap  and  mow  — 

gone  from  him,  and  in  the  hands  of  strangers ; 
the  pigeons,  for  which  the  Dovecot  had  always 
been  famous,  became  the  business  and  the 
'pleasure  of  his  life.  But  of  late  years  his  stock 
had  dwindled,  and  he  rarely  went  to  pigeon- 
matches  or  competed  in  shows  and  races.  A 
more  miserable  fancy  rivalled  his  interest  in 
pigeon  fancying.  His  new  hobby  was  hoard- 
ing ;  and  money  that,  a  few  years  back,  he 
would  have  freely  spent  to  improve  his  breed  of 
Tumblers  or  back  his  Homing  Birds  he  now 
added  with  stealthy  pleasure  to  the  store  behind 


TINE    HEART,    AND    AS    GANE.  I IQ 

the  secret  panel  of  a  fine  old  oak  bedstead  that 
had  belonged  to  the  Darwyn  who  owned  Dove- 
cot when  the  sixteenth  century  was  at  its  latter 
end.  In  this  bedstead  Daddy  slept  lightly  of 
late,  as  old  men  will,  and  he  had  horrid  dreams, 
which  old  men  need  not  have.  The  queer  faces 
carved  on  the  panels  (one  of  which  hid  the 
money  hole)  used  to  frighten  him  when  he  was 
a  child.  They  did  not  frighten  him  now  by 
their  grotesque  ugliness,  but  when  he  looked  at 
them,  and  knew  which  was  which^  he  dreaded 
the  dying  out  of  twilight  into  dark,  and 
dreamed  of  aged  men  living  alone,  who  had 
been  murdered  for  their  savings.  These 
growing  fears  had  had  no  small  share  in  decid- 
ing him  to  try  Jack  March  ;  and  to  see  the  lad 
growing  stronger,  nimbler,  and  more  devoted  to 
his  master's  interests  day  by  day,  was  a  nightly 
comfort  to  the  poor  old  hoarder  in  the  bed-head. 
As  to  his  keen  sense  of  Jack's  industry  and 
carefulness,  it  was  part  of  the  incompleteness  of 
Daddy  Darwin's  nature,  and  the  ill-luck  of  his 


I20  DADDY    DARWIN  S    DOVECOT. 

career,  that  he  had  a  sensitive  perception  of 
order  and  beauty,  and  a  shrewd  observation  of 
ways  of  living  and  quahties  of  character,  and 
yet  had  allowed  his  early  troubles  to  blight  him 
so  completely  that  he  never  put  forth  an  effort 
to  rise  above  the  ruin,  of  which  he  was  at  least 
as  conscious  as  his  neighbors. 

That  Jack  was  not  the  neatest  creature 
breathing,  one  look  at  him,  as  he  stood  with 
pigeons  on  his  head  and  arms  and  shoulders, 
would  have  been  enough  to  prove.  As  the  first 
and  readiest  repudiation  of  his  workhouse  ante- 
cedents he  had  let  his  hair  grow  till  it  hung  in 
the  wildest  elf-locks,  and  though  the  terms  of 
his  service  with  Daddy  Darwin  would  not,  in 
any  case,  have  provided  him  with  handsome 
clothes,  such  as  he  had  were  certainly  not  the 
better  for  any  attention  he  bestowed  upon 
them.  As  regarded  the  Dovecot,  however. 
Daddy  Darwin  had  not  done  more  than  justice 
to  his  bargain.  A  strong  and  grateful  attach- 
ment to  his  master,  and  a  passionate  love  for 


A  RAGGED  COLT  MAY  MAKE  A  GOOD  HORSE.      121 

the  pigeons  he  tended,  kept  Jack  constantly 
busy  in  the  service  of  both  ;  the  old  pigeon- 
fancier  taught  him  the  benefits  of  scrupulous 
cleanliness  in  the  pigeon-cote,  and  Jack 
"stoned"  the  kitchen-fioor  and  the  doorsteps 
on  his  own  responsibility. 

The    time    did    come  when     he    tidied   up 
himself. 


SCENE    VI. 


"^y^ADDY  DARWIN  had  made  the  first 

breach  in  his 

solitary  life  of 

his  own  free 

'     will,  but  it 

-^ ,  was  fated  to 


widen.      The 
.    parson's 

§     f  Li?  ^=^^^^</ -</.  .   i/)nM^^''^    soon       heard 

got  a  lad  from  the  workhouse,  the  very  boy  who 
sang  so  well  and  had  climbed  the  walnut-tree 
to  look  at  Daddy  Darwin's  pigeons.  The  most 
obvious  parish  questions  at  once  presented 
themselves  to  the  young  lady's  mind.  "  Had 
the  boy  been  christened }  Did  he  go  to  Church 
and  Sunday  School  ?     Did  he  say  his  prayers 

(122) 


SOFT   WORDS    ARE    HARD    ARGUMENTS.       1 23 

and  know  his  Catechism  ?     Had  he  a  Sunday 
suit  ?     Would  he  do  for  the  choir  ?  " 

Then,  supposing  (a  not  uncommon  case)  that 
the  boy  had  been  christened,  said  he  said  his 
prayers,  knew  his  Catechism,  and  was  ready  for 
school,  church,  and  choir,  but  had  not  got  a 
Sunday  suit  —  a  fresh  series  of  riddles  pro- 
pounded themselves  to  her  busy  brain.  **  Would 
her  father  yield  up  his  every-day  coat  and  take 
his  Sunday  one  into  week-day  wear.-*  Could 
the  charity  bag  do  better  than  pay  the  tailor's 
widow  for  adapting  this  old  coat  to  the  new 
chorister's  back,  taking  it  in  at  the  seams, 
turning  it  wrong-side  out,  and  getting  new 
sleeves  out  of  the  old  tails  .-*  Could  she  herself 
spare  the  boots  which  the  village  cobbler  had 
just  resoled  for  her  —  somewhat  clumsily  —  and 
would  the  "allowance"  bag  bear  this  strain? 
Might  she  hope  to  coax  an  old  pair  of  trowsers 
out  of  her  cousin,  who  was  spending  his  Long 
Vacation  at  the  Vicarage,  and  who  never  reck- 
oned very  closely  with  his  allowance,  and  kept 


124  DADDY    DARWIN  S    DOVECOT. 

no  charity  bag  at  all?  Lastly  would  ''that  old 
curmudgeon  at  the  Dovecot"  let  his  little  farm- 
boy  go  to  church  and  school  and  choir  ? 

"I  must  go  and  persuade  him,"  said  the 
young  lady. 

What  she  said,  and  what  (at  the  time)  Daddy 
Darwin  said.  Jack  never  knew.  He  was  at  high 
sport  with  the  terrier  round  the  big  sweet-brier 
bush,  when  he  saw  his  old  master  slitting  the 
seams  of  his  weather-beaten  coat  in  the  haste 
with  which  he  plucked  crimson  clove  carnations 
as  if  they  had  been  dandelions,  and  presented 
them,  not  ungracefully,  to  the  parson's  daughter. 

Jack  knew  why  she  had  come,  and  strained 
his  ears  to  catch  his  own  name.  But  Daddy 
Darwin  was  promising  pipings  of  the  cloves. 

"They  are  such  dear  old-fashioned  things," 
said  she,  burying  her  nose  in  the  bunch. 

"We're  old-fashioned  altogether,  here,  Miss," 
said  Daddy  Darwin,  looking  wistfully  at  the 
tumble-down  house  behind  them. 

"You're  very  pretty  here,"  said  she,  looking 


SOFT    WORDS    ARE    HARD    ARGUMENTS.       125 

also,  and  thinking  what  a  sketch  it  would  make, 
if  she  could  keep  on  friendly  terms  with  this  old 
recluse,  and  get  leave  to  sit  in  the  garden. 
Then  her  conscience  smiting  her  for  selfishness, 
she  turned  her  big  eyes  on  him  and  put  out  her 
small  hand. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Darwin, 
very  much  obliged  to  you  indeed.  And  I  hope 
that  Jack  will  do  credit  to  your  kindness.  And 
thank  you  so  much  for  the  cloves,"  she  added, 
hastily  changing  a  subject  which  had  cost  some 
argument,  and  which  she  did  not  wish  to  have 
reopened. 

Daddy  Darwin  had  thoughts  of  reopening  it. 
He  was  slowly  getting  his  ideas  together  to  say 
that  the  lad  should  see  how  he  got  along  with 
the  school  before  trying  the  choir,  when  he 
found  the  young  lady's  hand  in  his,  and  had  to 
take  care  not  to  hurt  it,  whilst  she  rained  thanks 
on  him  for  the  flowers. 

"You're  freely  welcome.  Miss,"  was  what  he 
did  say  after  all. 


126       DADDY  DARWIN's  DOVECOT. 

In  the  evening,  however,  he  was  very  moody, 
but  Jack  was  dying  of  curiosity,  and  at  last 
could  contain  himself  no  longer. 

"What  did  Miss  Jenny  want.  Daddy?"  he 
asked. 

The  old  man  looked  very  grim. 

"  First  to  mak  a  fool  of  me,  and  i'  t'  second 
place  to  mak  a  fool  of  thee,"  was  his  reply. 
And  he  added  with  pettish  emphasis,  "  They're 
all  alike,  gentle  and  simple.  Lad,  lad  !  If  ye'd 
have  any  peace  of  your  life  never  let  a  woman's 
foot  across  your  threshold.  Steek  t'  door  of 
your  house  —  if  ye  own  one  —  and  t'  door  o' 
your  heart  —  if  ye  own  one  —  and  then  ye'll 
never  rue.     Look  at  this  coat !  " 

And  the  old  man  went  grumpily  to  bed,  and 
dreamed  that  Miss  Jenny  had  put  her  little  foot 
over  his  threshold,  and  that  he  had  shown  her 
the  secret  panel,  and  let  her  take  away  his 
savings. 

And  Jack  went  to  bed,  and  dreamed  that  he 
went  to  school,  and  showed  himself  to  Phoebe 
Shaw  in  his  Sunday  suit. 


OF  ALL  TAME  BEASTS,  I  HATE  A  SLUT.   12/ 

This  dainty  little  damsel  had  long  been  mak- 
ing havoc  in  Jack's  heart.  The  attraction 
must  have  been  one  of  contrast,  for  whereas 
Jack  was  black  and  grubby,  and  had  only  week- 
day clothes  —  which  were  ragged  at  that  — 
Phoebe  was  fair,  and  exquisitely  clean,  and  quite 
terribly   tidy.      Her   mother  was   the    neatest 

woman   in   the   parish.     It   was   she   who   was 

* 

wont  to  say  to  her  trembling  handmaid,  "  I  hope 
I  can  black  a  grate  without  blacking  myself." 
But  little  Phoebe  promised  so  far  to  out-do  her 
mother,  that  it  seemed  doubtful  if  she  could 
"black  herself"  if  she  tried.  Only  the  bloom 
of  childhood  could  have  resisted  the  polishing 
effects  of  yellow  soap,  as  Phoebe's  brow  and 
cheeks  did  resist  it.  Her  shining  hair  was 
compressed  into  a  plait  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  a  rope-maker.  Her  pinafores  were 
speckless,  and  as  to  her  white  Whitsun  frock  — 
Jack  could  think  of  nothing  the  least  like  Phoebe 
in  that,  except  a  snowy  fantail  strutting  about 
the  Dovecot  roof ;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  the 
likeness  was  most  remarkable. 


128  DADDY    DARWIn's   DOVECOT. 

It  has  been  shown  that  Jack  March  had  a 
mind  to  be  master  of  his  fate,  and  he  did  suc- 
ceed in  making  friends  with  Httle  Phoebe  Shaw. 
This  was  before  Miss  Jenny's  visit,  but  the 
incident  shall  be  recorded  here. 

Early  on  Sunday  mornings  it  was  Jack's  cus- 
tom to  hide  his  work-day  garb  in  an  angle  of  the 
ivy-covered  wall  of  the  Dovecot  garden,  only 
letting  his  head  appear  over  the  top,  from 
whence  he  watched  to  see  Phoebe  pass  on  her 
way  to  Sunday  School,  and  to  bewilder  himself 
with  the  sight  of  her  starched  frock,  and  her 
airs  with  her  Bible  and  Prayer-book,  and  class 
card,  and  clean  pocket-handkerchief. 

Now,  amongst  the  rest  of  her  Sunday  para- 
phernalia, Phoebe  always  carried  a  posy,  made 
up  with  herbs  and  some  strong-smelling  flowers. 
Countrywomen  take  mint  and  southernwood  to 
a  long  hot  service,  as  fine  ladies  take  smelling- 
bottles  (for  it  is  a  pleasant  delusion  with  some 
writers  that  the  weaker  sex  is  a  strong  sex  in 
the  working  classes).     And  though  Phoebe  did 


PHCEBE  S    POSY.  1 29 

not  suffer  from  "fainty  feels"  like  her  mother, 
she  and  her  little  playmates  took  posies  to 
Sunday  School,  and  refreshed  their  nerves  in 
the  stream  of  question  and  answer,  and  hair 
oil  and  corduroy,  with  all  the  airs  of  their  elders. 

One  day  she  lost  her  posy  on  her  way  to 
school,  and  her  loss  was  Jack's  opportunity. 
He  had  been  waiting  half-an-hour  among  the 
ivy,  when  he  saw  her  just  below  him,  fuzzling 
round  and  round  like  a  kitten  chasing  its  tail. 
He  sprang  to  the  top  of  the  wall. 

"Have  ye  lost  something.'*"  he  gasped. 

"  My  posy,"  said  poor  Phoebe,  lifting  her 
sweet  eyes,  which  were  full  of  tears. 

A  second  spring  brought  Jack  into  the  dust 
at  her  feet,  where  he  searched  most  faithfully, 
and  was  wandering  along  the  path  by  which  she 
had  come,  when  she  called  him  back. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said.  **  They'll  most  likely 
be  dusty  by  now." 

Jack  was  not  used  to  think  the  worse  of 
anything  for  a  coating  of  dust ;  but  he  paused, 


130  DADDY    DARWIN  S    DOVECOT. 

trying  to  solve  the  perpetual  problem  of  his 
situation,  and  find  out  what  the  little  maid 
really  wanted. 

"'Twas  only  Old  Man  and  marygolds," 
said  she.     "They're  common  enough." 

A  light  illumined  Jack's  understanding. 

"We've  Old  Man  i'  plenty.  Wait,  and 
I'll  get  thee  a  fresh  posy."  And  he  began  to 
reclimb  the  wall. 

But  Phoebe  drew  nearer.  She  stroked  down 
her  frock,  and  spoke  mincingly  but  confiden- 
tially. "  My  mother  says  Daddy  Darwin  has  red 
bergamot  i'  his  garden.  We've  none  i'  ours. 
My  mother  always  says  there's  nothing  like 
red  bergamot  to  take  to  church.  She  says 
it's  a  deal  more  refreshing  than  Old  Man, 
and  not  so  common.  My  mother  says  she's 
always  meaning  to  ask  Daddy  Darwin  to  let  us 
have  a  root  to  set ;  but  she  doesn't  often  see 
him,  and  when  she  does  she  doesn't  think  on. 
But  she  always  says  there's  nothing  like  red  ber- 
gamot, and  my  Aunt  Nancy,  she  says  the  same." 


RED    AS    A    ROSE    IS    SHE.  I3I 

'^Red  is  it?"  cried  Jack.  "You  wait  there, 
love."  And  before  Phoebe  could  say  him  nay, 
he  was  over  the  wall  and  back  again  with  his 
arms  full. 

"Is  it  any  o'  this  lot.?"  he  inquired,  drop- 
ping a  small  haycock  of  flowers  at  her  feet. 

"  Don't  ye  know  one  from  t'other } "  asked 
Phoebe,  with  round  eyes  of  reproach.  And 
spreading  her  clean  kerchief  on  the  grass  she 
laid  her  Bible  and  Prayer-book  and  class  card 
on  it,  and  set  vigorously  and  nattily  to  work, 
picking  one  flower  and  another  from  the  fra- 
grant confusion,  nipping  the  stalks  to  even 
lengths,  rejecting  withered  leaves,  and  instruct- 
ing Jack  as  she  proceeded. 

"  I  suppose  ye  know  a  rose  .?  That's  a  double 
velvet.  1  They  dry  sweeter  than  lavender  for 
linen.  These  dark  red  things  is  pheasants' 
eyes ;  but,  dear,  dear,  what  a  lad !  ye've 
dragged   it  up  by  the  roots !     And  eh !    what 

1  Double  velvet,  an  old  summer  rose,  not  common  now.  It  is 
described  by  Parkinson. 


f«^C\ 


?r^ 


^-^ 


There's  red  bergamot;  smell  it!" 
(132) 


RED    AS    A    ROSE    IS    SHE.  1 33 

will  Master  Darwin  say  when  he  misses 
these  pink  hollyhocks  ?  And  only  in  bud, 
too  !     There  s  red  bergamot ;  ^  smell  it !  " 

It  had  barely  touched  Jack's  willing  nose 
when  it  was  hastily  withdrawn.  Phoebe  had 
caught  sight  of  Polly  and  Susan  Smith  com- 
ing to  school,  and  crying  that  she  should  be 
late  and  must  run,  the  little  maid  picked  up 
her  paraphernalia  (not  forgetting  the  red  ber- 
gamot), and  fled  down  the  lane.  And  Jack, 
with  equal  haste,  snatched  up  the  tell-tale 
heap  of  flowers  and  threw  them  into  a  dis- 
used pig-sty,  where  it  was  unlikely  that  Daddy 
Darwin  would  go  to  look  for  his  poor  pink 
hollyhocks. 

1  Red  Bergamot,  or  Twinflower :  Monarda  Didytna. 


SCENE  VII. 


^--'-'^^^ 


PRIL      was       a 
busy  month 
in  the  Dove- 
cot.   Young 
birds     were 
chipping  the 
^gg,   parent 
birds   were   feeding   their    young   or   reheving 
each    other    on    the   nest,   and   Jack   and    his 
master  were  constantly  occupied  and  excited. 

One  night  Daddy  Darwin  went  to  bed  ;  but, 
though  he  was  tired,  he  did  not  sleep  long. 
He  had  sold  a  couple  of  handsome  but  quarrel- 
some pigeons  to  advantage,  and  had  added 
their  price  to  the  hoard  in  the  bed-head. 
This  had  renewed  his  old  fears,  for  the  store 
was  becoming  very  valuable ;  and  he  wondered 
(134) 


THE  DAY  HAS  EYES  :    THE  NIGHT  HAS  EARS.      1 35 

if  it  had  really  escaped  Jack's  quick  observa- 
tion, or  whether  the  boy  knew  about  it,  and, 
perhaps,  talked  about  it.  As  he  lay  and  wor- 
ried himself  he  fancied  he  heard  sounds  with- 
out—  the  sound  of  footsteps  and  of  voices. 
Then  his  heart  beat  till  he  could  hear  nothing 
else ;  then  he  could  undoubtedly  hear  nothing 
at  all ;  then  he  certainly  heard  something  which 
probably  was  rats.  And  so  he  lay  in  a  cold 
sweat,  and  pulled  the  rug  over  his  face,  and 
made  up  his  mind  to  give  the  money  to  the 
parson,  for  the  poor,  if  he  was  spared  till 
daylight. 

He  was  spared  till  daylight,  and  had  re- 
covered himself,  and  settled  to  leave  the  money 
where  it  was,  when  Jack  rushed  in  from 
the  pigeon-house  with  a  face  of  dire  dismay. 
He  made  one  or  two  futile  efforts  to  speak, 
and  then  unconsciously  used  the  words  Shake- 
speare has  put  into  the  mouth  of  Macduff, 
"  All  my  pretty  'uns  ! "  and  so  burst  into 
tears. 


136  DADDY    DARWIN'S    DOVECOT. 

And  when  the  old  man  made  his  way  to  the 
pigeon-house,  followed  by  poor  Jack,  he  found 
that  the  eggs  were  cold  and  the  callow  young 
shivering  in  deserted  nests,  and  that  every  bird 
was  gone.  And  jthen  he  remembered  the  rob- 
bers, and  was  maddened  by  the  thought  that 
whilst  he  lay  expecting  thieves  to  break  in 
and  steal  his  money  he  had  let  them  get  safely 
off  with  his  whole  stock  of  pigeons. 

Daddy  Darwin  had  never  taken  up  arms 
against  his  troubles,  and  this  one  crushed  him. 

The  fame  and  beauty  of  his  house-doves  were 
all  that  was  left  of  prosperity  about  the  place, 
and  now  there  was  nothing  left  —  nothing ! 
Below  this  dreary  thought  lay  a  far  more  bitter 
one,  which  he  dared  not  confide  to  Jack.  He 
had  heard  the  robbers;  he  might  have  fright- 
ened them  away ;  he  might  at  least  have  given 
the  lad  a  chance  to  save  his  pets,  and  not  a 
care  had  crossed  his  mind  except  for  the  safety 
of  his  own  old  bones,  and  of  those  miserable 
savings  in  the  bed-head,  which  he  was  enduring 


JACK  TAKES  TIME  BY  THE  FORELOCK.   1 37 

SO  much  to  scrape  together  (oh  satire !)  for  a 
distant  connection  whom  he  had  never  seen. 
He  crept  back  to  the  kitchen,  and  dropped 
in  a  heap  upon  the  settle,  and  muttered  to 
himself.  Then  his  thoughts  wandered.  Sup- 
posing the  pigeons  were  gone  for  good,  would 
he  ever  make  up  his  mind  to  take  that  money 
out  of  the  money-hole,  and  buy  a  fresh  stock  ? 
He  knew  he  never  would,  and  shrank  into  a 
meaner  heap  upon  the  settle  as  he  said  so  to 
himself.  He  did  not  like  to  look  his  faithful 
lad  in  the  face. 

Jack  looked  him  in  the  face,  and,  finding 
no  help  there,  acted  pretty  promptly  behind 
his  back.  He  roused  the  parish  constable, 
and  fetched  that  functionary  to  the  Dovecot 
before  he  had  had  bite  or  sup  to  break  his 
fast.  He  spread  a  meal  for  him  and  Daddy, 
and  borrowed  the  Shaws'  light  cart  whilst 
they  were  eating  it.  The  Shaws  were  good 
farmer-folk,  they  sympathized  most  fully ;  and 
Jack  was   glad   of   a   few  words   of   pity  from 


138  DADDY  Darwin's  dovecot. 

Phoebe.  She  said  she  had  watched  the  pretty 
pets  ''many  a  score  of  times,"  which  com- 
forted more  than  one  of  Jack's  heartstrings. 
Phoebe's  mother  paid  respect  to  his  sense  and 
promptitude.  He  had  acted  exactly  as  she 
would  have  done. 

"Daddy  was  right  enough  about  yon  lad," 
she  admitted.  "  He's  not  one  to  let  the  grass 
grow  under  his  feet." 

And  she  gave  him  a  good  breakfast  whilst 
the  horse  was  being  "put  to."  It  pleased  her 
that  Jack  jumped  up  and  left  half  a  delicious 
cold  tea-cake  behind  him  when  the  cart-wheels 
grated  outside.  Mrs.  Shaw  sent  Phoebe  to 
put  the  cake  in  his  pocket,  and  "  the  Measter  " 
helped  Jack  in  and  took  the  reins.  He  said 
he  would  "see  Daddy  Darwin  through  it," 
and  added  the  weight  of  his  opinion  to  that 
of  the  constable,  that  the  pigeons  had  been 
taken  to  "a  beastly  low  place"  (as  he  put  it) 
that  had  lately  been  set  up  for  pigeon-shooting 
in  the  outskirts  of  the  neighboring  town. 


WHITHER    GOEST    GRIEF?  I39 

They  paused  no  longer  at  the  Dovecot  than 
was  needed  to  hustle  Daddy  Darwin  on  to  the 
seat  beside  Master  Shaw,  and  for  Jack  to  fill 
his  pockets  with  peas,  and  take  his  place  beside 
the  constable.  He  had  certain  ideas  of  his 
own  on  the  matter,  which  were  not  confused 
by  the  jog-trot  of  the  light  cart,  which  did 
give  a  final  jumble  to  poor  Daddy  Darwin's 
faculties. 

No  wonder  they  were  jumbled  !  The  terrors 
of  the  night  past,  the  shock  of  the  morning, 
the  completeness  of  the  loss,  the  piteous  sight 
in  the  pigeon-house,  remorseful  shame,  and 
then  —  after  all  these  years,  during  which  he 
had  not  gone  half  a  mile  from  his  own  hearth- 
stone —  to  be  set  up  for  all  the  world  to  see, 
on  the  front  seat  of  a  market-cart,  back  to  back 
with  the  parish  constable,  and  jogged  off  as 
if  miles  were  nothing,  and  crowded  streets 
were  nothing,  and  the  Beaulieu  Gardens  were 
nothing ;  Master  Shaw  talking  away  as  easily 
as  if  they  were  sitting  in  two  arm-chairs,  and 


I40  DADDY   DARWIN  S    DOVECOT. 

making  no  more  of  "  stepping  into  "  a  lawyer's 
office,  and  *'  going  on "  to  the  Town  Hall, 
than  if  he  were  talking  of  stepping  up  to 
his  own  bedchamber  or  going  out  into  the 
garden ! 

That  day  passed  like  a  dream,  and  Daddy 
Darwin  remembered  what  happened  in  it  as 
one   remembers   visions   of  the   night. 

He  had  a  vision  (a  very  unpleasing  vision)  of 
the  proprietor  of  the  Beaulieu  Gardens,  a  big 
greasy  man,  with  sinister  eyes  very  close 
together,  and  a  hook  nose,  and  a  heavy  watch- 
chain,  and  a  bullying  voice.  He  browbeat  the 
constable  very  soon,  and  even  bullied  Master 
Shaw  into  silence.  No  help  was  to  be  had 
from  him  in  his  loud  indignation  at  being 
supposed  to  traffic  with  thieves.  When  he 
turned  the  tables  by  talking  of  slander,  loss  of 
time,  and  compensation.  Daddy  Darwin  smelt 
money,  and  tremblingly  whispered  to  Master 
Shaw  to  apologize  and  get  out  of  it.  ''They're 
gone  for  good,"   he  almost  sobbed  ;    "  Gone  for 


AN    EASY    FOOL    IS    A    KNAVE  S    TOOL.        I4I 

good,  like  all  t'  rest !  And  I'll  not  be  long 
after  'em." 

But  even  as  he  spoke  he  heard  a  sound  which 
made  him  lift  up  his  head.  It  was  Jack's  call  at 
feeding-time  to  the  pigeons  at  the  Dovecot. 
And  quick  following  on  this  most  musical  and 
most  familiar  sound  there  came  another.  The 
old  man  put  both  his  lean  hands  behind  his  ears 
to  be  sure  that  he  heard  it  aright  —  the  sound 
of  wings  —  the  wings  of  a  dove ! 

The  other  men  heard  it  and  ran  in.  Whilst 
they  were  wrangling,  Jack  had  slipped  past 
them,  and  had  made  his  way  into  a  wired  en- 
closure in  front  of  the  pigeon-house.  And 
there  they  found  him,  with  all  the  captive 
pigeons  coming  to  his  call ;  flying,  fluttering, 
strutting,  nestling  from  head  to  foot  of  him,  he 
scattering  peas  like  hail. 

He  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  not  a  choke 
in  his  voice.  His  iron  temperament  was  at 
white  heat,  and,  as  he  afterwards  said,  he 
"cared   no   more   for  yon    dirty   chap   wi'    the 


142       DADDY  DARWIN  S  DOVECOT. 

big  nose,  nor  if  he  were  a  ratten  ^  in  a  hay- 
loft !  " 

"  These  is  ours,"  he  said,  shortly.  "  I'll  count 
'em  over,  and  see  if  they're  right.  There  was 
only  one  young  'un  that  could  fly.  A  white 
'un."  ("  It's  here,"  interpolated  Master  Shaw.) 
"  I'll  pack  'em  i'  yon,"  and  Jack  turned  his 
thumb  to  a  heap  of  hampers  in  a  corner.  "T' 
carrier  can  leave  t'  baskets  at  t'  toll-bar  next 
Saturday,  and  ye  may  send  your  lad  for  'em,  if 
ye  keep  one." 

The  proprietor  of  the  Beaulieu  Gardens  was 
not  a  man  easily  abashed,  but  most  of  the 
pigeons  were  packed  before  he  had  fairly  re- 
sumed his  previous  powers  of  speech.  Then, 
as  Master  Shaw  said,  he  talked  "  on  the  other 
side  of  his  mouth."  Most  willing  was  he  to 
help  to  bring  to  justice  the  scoundrels  who  had 
deceived  him  and  robbed  Mr.  Darwin,  but  he 
feared  they  would  be  difficult  to  trace.  His 
own   feeling  was   that  of  wishing   for   pleasant- 

1  Anglic e  Rat. 


^^ 


Jack  and  the  Pigeons. 


PUNISHMENT    IS    LAME,    BUT    IT    COMES.        I43 

ness  among  neighbors.  The  pigeons  had  been 
found  at  the  Gardens.  That  was  enough.  He 
would  be  glad  to  settle  the  business  out  of 
court. 

Daddy  Darwin  heard  the  chink  of  the  dirty 
man's  money,  and  would  have  compounded  the 
matter  then  and  there.  But  not  so  the  parish 
constable,  who  saw  himself  famous  ;  and  not  so 
Jack,  who  turned  eyes  of  smouldering  fire  on 
Master  Shaw. 

"  Maester  Shaw  !  you'll  not  let  them  chaps  get 
off.?  Daddy's  mazelin  wi'  trouble,  sir,  but  I 
reckon  you'll  see  to  it." 

''  If  it  costs  t'  worth  of  the  pigeons  ten  times 
over,  I'll  see  to  it,  my  lad,"  was  Master  Shaw's 
reply.  And  the  parish  constable  rose  even  to 
a  vein  of  satire  as  he  avenged  himself  of  the 
man  who  had  slighted  his  office.  "  Settle  it  out 
of  court :  Aye !  I  dare  say.  And  send  t' 
same  chaps  to  fetch  'em  away  again  t'  night 
after.  Nay  —  bear  a  hand  with  this  hamper, 
Maester  Shaw,  if  you  please  —  if  it's  all  t'  same 


144       DADDY  DARWIN  S  DOVECOT. 

to  you,  Mr.  Proprietor,  I  think  we  shall  have  to 
trouble  you  to  step  up  to  t'  Town  Hall  by-and- 
by,  and  see  if  we  can't  get  shut  of  them 
mistaking  friends  o'  yours  for  three  months 
any  way." 

If  that  day  was  a  trying  one  to  Daddy 
Darwin,  the  night  that  followed  it  was  far 
worse.  The  thieves  w^ere  known  to  the  police, 
and  the  case  was  down  to  come  on  at  the 
Town  Hall  the  following  morning ;  but  mean- 
while the  constable  thought  fit  to  keep  the 
pigeons  under  his  own  charge  in  the  village 
lock-up.  Jack  refused  to  be  parted  from  his 
birds,  and  remained  with  them,  leaving  Daddy 
Darwin  alone  in  the  Dovecot.  He  dared  not 
go  to  bed,  and  it  was  not  a  pleasant  night  that 
he  spent,  dozing  with  weariness,  and  starting 
up  with  fright,  in  an  arm-chair  facing  the 
money-hole. 

Some  things  that  he  had  been  nervous 
about  he  got  quite  used  to,  however.  He  bore 
himself  with  sufficient  dignity  in  the  publicity 


PUNISHMENT    IS    LAME,    BUT    IT    COMES.       I45 

of  the  Town  Hall,  where  a  great  sensation 
was  created  by  the  pigeons  being  let  loose 
without,  and  coming  to  Jack's  call.  Some 
of  them  fed  from  the  boy's  lips,  and  he 
was  the  hero  of  the  hour,  to  Daddy  Darwin's 
delight. 

Then  the  lawyer  and  the  lawyer's  office 
proved  genial  and  comfortable  to  him.  He 
liked  civil  ways  and  smooth  speech,  and  under- 
stood them  far  better  than  Master  Shaw's 
brevity  and  uncouthness.  The  lawyer  chatted 
kindly  and  intelligently  ;  he  gave  Daddy  Darwin 
wine  and  biscuit,  and  talked  of  the  long  standing 
of  the  Darwin  family  and  its  vicissitudes  ;  he 
even  took  down  some  fat  yellow  books,  and 
showed  the  old  man  how  many  curious  laws 
had  been  made  from  time  to  time  for  the  special 
protection  of  pigeons  in  Dovecots,  very  ancient 
statutes  making  the  killing  of  a  house-dove 
felony.  Then  i  James  I.  c.  29  awarded  three 
months'  imprisonment  ''without  bail  or  main 
price  "to  any  person  who    should    "shoot   at. 


146  DADDY    DARWIN's    DOVECOT. 

kill,  or  destroy  with  any  gun,  crossbow,  stone- 
bow,  or  longbow,  any  house-dove  or  pigeon;" 
but  allowed  an  alternative  fine  of  twenty  shil- 
lings to  be  paid  to  the  churchwardens  of  the 
parish  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor.  Daddy 
Darwin  hoped  there  was  no  such  alternative  in 
this  case,  and  it  proved  that  by  2  Geo.  III.  c. 
29,  the  twenty-shilling  fine  was  transferred  to 
the  owner  of  birds;  at  which  point  another 
client  called,  and  the  polite  lawyer  left  Daddy 
to  study  the  laws  by  himself. 

It  was  when  Jack  was  helping  Master  Shaw 
to  put  the  horse  into  the  cart,  after  the  trial  was 
over,  that  the  farmer  said  to  him,  '*  I  don't  want 
to  put  you  about,  my  lad,  but  I'm  afraid  you 
won't  keep  your  master  long.  T'old  gentleman's 
breaking  up,  mark  my  words !  Constable  and 
me  was  going  into  the  George  for  a  glass,  and 
Master  Darwin  left  us  and  went  back  to  the 
office.  I  says,  *  What  are  ye  going  back  to  t' 
lawyer  for } '  and  he  says,  *  I  don't  mind  telling 
you.  Master  Shaw,  but  it's  to  make  my  will.' 


OLD  MAN  S  STAFF  RAPS  AT  DEATH  S  DOOR.      I47 

And  off  he  goes.  Now,  there's  only  two  more 
things  between  that  and  death,  Jack  March  ! 
And  one's  the  parson,  and  t'  other's  the 
doctor." 


[ 


SCENE  VIII. 


ITTLE  Phoebe 
Shaw  coming  out 
of  the  day-school, 
and  picking  her  way  home  to  tea,  was  startled 
by  folk  running  past  her,  and  by  a  sound 
of  cheering  from  the  far  end  of  the  village, 
which  gradually  increased  in  volume,  and 
was  caught  up  by  the  bystanders  as  they 
ran.  When  Phoebe  heard  that  it  was  "  Con- 
stable, and  Master  Shaw,  and  Daddy  Darwin 
and  his  lad,  coming  home,  and  the  pigeons 
along  wi'  'em,"   she  felt   inclined  to  run  too ; 

but  a  fit   of  shyness  came  over  her,   and  she 
(148) 


"1  Hm\ 


■"He  m 


"  Constable,  and  Master  Shaw,  and  Daddy  Darwin,  and 
his  lad,  coming  home,  and  the  pigeons  along  wi'  'em." 


(149) 


150  DADDY    DARWIN  S    DOVECOT. 

demurely  decided  to  wait  by  the  school-gate 
till  they  came  her  way.  They  did  not  come. 
They  stopped.  What  were  they  doing.? 
Another  bystander  explained,  "They're  shak- 
ing hands  wi'  Daddy,  and  I  reckon  they're 
making  him  put  up  t'  birds  here,  to  see  'em 
go  home  to  t'  Dovecot." 

Phoebe  ran  as  if  for  her  life.  She  loved  beast 
and  bird  as  well  as  Jack  himself,  and  the  fame 
of  Daddy  Darwin's  doves  was  great.  To  see 
them  put  up  by  him  to  fly  home  after  such 
an  adventure  was  a  sight  not  lightly  to  be 
forgone.  The  crowd  had  moved  to  a  hillock 
in  a  neighboring  field  before  she  touched  its 
outskirts.  By  that  time  it  pretty  well  num- 
bered the  population  of  the  village,  from  the 
oldest  inhabitant  to  the  youngest  that  could 
run.  Phoebe  had  her  mother's  courage  and 
resource.  Chirping  out  feebly  but  clearly, 
"  I'm  Maester  Shaw's  little  lass,  will  ye  let  me 
through  ? "  she  was  passed  from  hand  to  hand, 
till  her  little  fingers  found  themselves  in  Jack's 


HOME,    SWEET    HOME  !  I  5  I 

tight    clasp,   and    he   fairly   lifted   her   to   her 
father's  side. 

She  was  just  in  time.  Some  of  the  birds 
had  hung  about  Jack,  nervous,  or  expecting 
peas ;  but  the  hesitation  was  past.  Free  in 
the  sweet  sunshine  —  beating  down  the  even- 
ing air  with  silver  wings  and  their  feathers 
like  gold  —  ignorant  of  cold  eggs  and  callow 
young  dead  in  deserted  nests  —  sped  on  their 
way  by  such  a  roar  as  rarely  shook  the  vil- 
lage in  its  body  corporate  —  they  flew  straight 
home:  —  to  Daddy  Darwin's  Dovecot. 


SCENE   IX. 


fiT^c^ABDY  DAR- 
..A'f'-!^  WIN  lived  a 
good  many- 
years  after 
making  his 
will,  and 
the  Dovecot 
prospered  in 
his  hands. 

It    would 
be  more  just 
to   say  that 
it  prospered  in  the  hands  of  Jack  March. 

By  hook  and  by  crook  he  increased  the  live 

stock  about  the  place.     Folk  were  kind  to  one 

who  had  set  so  excellent  an  example  to  other 

farm  lads,  though  he  lacked  the  primal  virtue 

(152) 


LOVE    IS    THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE.  1 53 

of  belonging  to  the  neighborhood.  He  bar- 
tered pigeons  for  fowls,  and  some  one  gave 
him  a  sitting  of  eggs  to  "  see  what  he  would 
make  of  'em."  Master  Shaw  gave  him  a  little 
pig,  with  kind  words  and  good  counsel ;  and 
Jack  cleaned  out  the  disused  pigstyes,  which 
were  never  disused  again.  He  scrubbed  his 
pigs  with  soap  and  water  as  if  they  had  been 
Christians,  and  the  admirable  animals,  regard- 
less of  the  pork  they  were  coming  to,  did  him 
infinite  credit,  and  brought  him  a  profit  into  the 
bargain,  which  he  spent  on  ducks'  eggs,  and 
other  additions  to  his  farmyard  family. 

The  Shaws  were  very  kind  to  him ;  and  if 
Mrs.  Shaw's  secrets  must  be  told,  it  was  because 
Phoebe  was  so  unchangeably  and  increasingly 
kind  to  him,  that  she  sent  the  pretty  maid  (who 
had  a  knack  of  knowing  her  own  mind  about 
things)  to  service. 

Jack  March  was  a  handsome,  stalwart  youth 
now,  of  irreproachable  conduct,  and  with 
qualities  which  Mrs.  Shaw  particularly  prized ; 


154  DADDY    DARWIN  S    DOVECOT. 

but  he  was  but  a  farm-lad,  and  no  match  for 
her  daughter. 

Jack  only  saw  his  sweetheart  once  during 
several  years.  She  had  not  been  well,  and  was 
at  home  for  the  benefit  of  "native  air."  He 
walked  over  the  hill  with  her  as  they  returned 
from  church,  and  lived  on  the  remembrance  of 
that  walk  for  two  or  three  years  more.  Phoebe 
had  given  him  her  Prayer-book  to  carry,  and  he 
had  found  a  dead  flower  in  it,  and  had  been 
jealous.  She  had  asked  if  he  knew  what  it  was, 
and  he  had  replied  fiercely  that  he  did  not,  and 
was  not  sure  that  he  cared  to  know. 

"  Ye  never  did  know  much  about  flowers," 
said  Phoebe,  demurely,  ''it's  red  bergamot." 

"  I  love  —  red  bergamot,"  he  whispered  pen- 
itently. "And  thou  owes  me  a  bit.  I  gave 
thee  some  once."  And  Phoebe  had  let  him  put 
the  withered  bits  into  his  own  hymn-book, 
which  was  more  than  he  deserved. 

Jack  was  still  in  the  choir,  and  taught  in  the 
Sunday  School  where  he  used  to  learn.      The 


THE   THINGS    OF    THE   SPIRIT.  . 


155 


parson's  daughter  had  had  her  own  way ;  Daddy 
Darwin  grumbled  at  first,  but  in  the  end  he  got 
a  bottle-green  Sunday-coat  out  of  the  oak-press 


•^^'  -;.^ 


that  matched  the  bedstead,  and  put  the  house- 
key  into  his  pocket,  and  went  to  church  too. 
Now,  for  years  past  ht  had  not  failed  to  take 


156  .    DADDY    DARWIN's    DOVECOT. 

his  place,  week  by  week,  in  the  pew  that  was 
traditionally  appropriated  to  the  use  of  the 
Darwins  of  Dovecot.  In  such  an  hour  the 
sordid  cares  of  the  secret  panel  weighed  less 
heavily  on  his  soul,  and  the  things  that  are  not 
seen  came  nearer  —  the  house  not  made  with 
hands,  the  treasures  that  rust  and  moth  corrupt 
not,  and  which  thieves  do  not  break  through 
to  steal. 

Daddy  Darwin  died  of  old  age.  As  his  health 
failed,  Jack  nursed  him  with  the  tenderness  of 
a  woman  ;  and  kind  inquiries,  and  dainties  which 
Jack  could  not  have  cooked,  came  in  from 
many  quarters  where  it  pleased  the  old  man 
to  find  that  he  was  held  in  respect  and 
remembrance. 

One  afternoon,  coming  in  from  the  farmyard, 
Jack  found  him  sitting  by  the  kitchen-table 
as  he  had  left  him,  but  with  a  dread  look  of 
change  upon  his  face.  At  first  he  feared  there 
had  been  "a  stroke,"  but  Daddy  Darwin's  mind 
was  clear  and  his  voice  firmer  than  usual. 


IN    THE    NAME    OF    GOD:     AMEN.  1 5/ 

"My  lad,"  he  said,  "fetch  me  yon  tea-pot 
out  of  the  corner  cupboard.  T'  one  wi'  a 
pole-house^  painted  on  it,  and  some  letters. 
Take  care  how  ye  shift  it.  It  were  t'  merry 
feast-pot  2  at  my  christening,  and  yon's  t'  let- 
ters of  my  father's  and  mother's  names.  Take 
off  t'  lid.  There's  two  bits  of  paper  in  the 
inside." 

Jack  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  laid  the  papers 
(one  small  and  yellow  with  age,  the  other 
bigger,  and  blue,  and  neatly  written  upon)  at 
his  master's  right  hand. 

"Read  yon,"  said  the  old  man,  pushing  the 
small  one  towards  him.  Jack  took  it  up 
wondering.  It  was  the  letter  he  had  writ- 
ten from  the  workhouse  fifteen  years  before. 
That  was  all  he  could  see.  The  past  surged 
up  too  thickly  before  his  eyes,  and  tossing 
it   impetuously   from   him,    he    dropped    on    a 

1  A  pole-house  is  a  small  dovecot  on  the  top  of  a  pole. 

2  "  Merry  feast-pot "  is  a  name  given  to  old  pieces  of  ware, 
made  in  local  potteries  for  local  festivals. 


158  DADDY  Darwin's  dovecot. 

chair  by  the  table,  and  snatching  Daddy  Dar- 
win's hands  he  held  them  to  his  face  with 
tears. 

"God  bless  thee!"  he  sobbed.  "You've 
been  a  good  maester  to  me ! " 

'^ Daddy,''  wheezed  the  old  man.  '^ Daddy,  not 
maester."  And  drawing  his  right  hand  away, 
he  laid  it  solemnly  on  the  young  man's  head. 
"  God  bless  thee,  and  reward  thee.  What  have 
I  done  i'  my  feckless  life  to  deserve  a  son.? 
But  if  ever  a  lad  earned  a  father  and  a  home, 
thou  hast  earned  'em,  Jack  March." 

He  moved  his  hand  again  and  laid  it  trem- 
bling on  the  paper. 

"  Every  word  i'  this  letter  ye've  made  good. 
Every  word,  even  to  t'  bit  at  the  end.  *  I  love 
them  tumblers  as  if  they  were  my  own,'  says 
you.  Lift  thee  head,  lad,  and  look  at  me. 
They  are  thy  own  !  .  .  .  Yon  blue  paper's  my 
last  will  and  testament,  made  many  a  year 
back  by  Mr.  Brown,  of  Green  Street,  Solicitor, 
and  a  very  nice  gentleman  too ;  and  witnessed 


THIS  IS  THE  LAST  WILL  AND  TESTAMENT.       I  59 

by  his  clerks,  two  decent  young  chaps,  and 
civil  enough,  but  with  •  too  much  watchchain 
for  their  situation.  Jack  March,  my  son,  I 
have  left  thee  maester  of  Dovecot  and  all  that 
I  have.  And  there's  a  bit  of  money  in  t'  bed- 
head that'll  help  thee  to  make  a  fair  start,  and 
to  bury  me  decently  atop  of  my  father  and 
mother.  Ye  may  let  Bill  Sexton  toll  an  hour- 
bell  for  me,  for  I'm  a  old  standard,  if  I  never 
were  good  for  much.  Maybe  I  might  ha'  done 
better  if  things  had  happed  in  a  different 
fashion  ;  but  the  Lord  knows  all.  I'd  like  a 
hymn  at  the  grave,  Jack,  if  the  Vicar  has  no 
objections,  and  do  thou  sing  if  thee  can.  Don't 
fret,  my  son,  thou'st  no  cause.  'Twas  that 
sweet  voice  o'  thine  took  me  back  again  to 
public  worship,  and  it's  not  t'  least  of  all  I 
owe  thee.  Jack  March.  A  poor  reason  lad, 
for  taking  up  with  a  neglected  duty  —  a  poor 
reason  —  but  the  Lord  is  a  God  of  mercy,  or 
there'd  be  small  chance  for  most  on  us.  If 
Miss  Jenny  and  her  husband  come  to  t'  Vicar- 


l60  DADDY    DARWIN's    DOVECOT. 

age  this  summer,  say  I  left  her  my  duty  and 
an  old  man's  blessing;  and  if  she  wants  any 
roots  out  of  t'  garden,  give  'em  her,  and  give 
her  yon  old  chest  that  stands  in  the  back 
chamber.  It  belonged  to  an  uncle  of  my 
mother's  —  a  Derbyshire  man.  They  say  her 
husband's  a  rich  gentleman,  and  treats  her 
very  well.  I  reckon  she  may  have  what  she's 
a  mind,  new  and  polished,  but  she's  always 
for  old  lumber.  They're  a  whimsical  lot,  gentle 
and  simple.  A  talking  of  women,  Jack,  I've 
a  word  to  say,  if  I  can  fetch  my  breath  to  say 
it.  Lad!  as  sure  as  you're  maester  of  Dovecot, 
you'll  give  it  a  missus.  Now  take  heed  to  me. 
If  ye  fetch  any  woman  home  here  but  Phoebe 
Shaw,  I'll  walk,  and  scare  ye  away  from  t'  old 
place.  I'm  willing  for  Phoebe,  and  I  charge  ye 
to  tell  the  lass  so  hereafter.  And  tell  her  it's 
not  because  she's  fair  —  too  many  on  'em  are 
that ;  and  not  because  she's  thrifty  and  house- 
proud —  her  mother's  that,  and  she's  no  favor- 
ite  of    mine;    but   because    I've   watched   her 


love's  not  time's  fool.  i6i 

whenever  t'  ould  cat  's  let  her  be  at  home, 
and  it's  my  belief  that  she  loves  ye,  knowing 
nought  of  this "  (he  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
will)  "and  that  she'll  stick  to  ye,  choose  what 
her  folk  may  say.  Aye,  aye,  she's  not  one 
of  t'  sort  that  quits  a  falling  house  —  like 
rattens  J' 

Language  fails  to  convey  the  bitterness 
which  the  old  man  put  into  these  last  two  words. 
It  exhausted  him,  and  his  mind  wandered. 
When  he  had  to  some  extent  recovered  himself 
he  spoke  again,  but  very  feebly. 

"  Tak'  my  duty  to  the  Vicar,  lad.  Daddy 
Darwin's  duty,  and  say  he's  at  t'  last  feather 
of  the  shuttle,  and  would  be  thankful  for  the 
Sacrament." 

The  Parson  had  come  and  gone.  Daddy 
Darwin  did  not  care  to  lie  down,  he  breathed 
with  difficulty  ;  so  Jack  made  him  easy  in  a 
big  arm-chair,  and  raked  up  the  fire  with  cinders, 
and  took  a  chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  hearth 


i62  DADDY  Darwin's  dovecot. 

to  watch  with  him.  The  old  man  slept  com- 
fortably, and  at  last,  much  wearied,  the  young 
man  dozed  also. 

He  awoke  because  Daddy  Darwin  moved,  but 
for  a  moment  he  thought  he  must  be  dreaming. 
So  erect  the  old  man  stood,  and  with  such 
delight  in  his  wide-open  eyes.  They  were 
looking  over  Jack's  head. 

All  that  the  lad  had  never  seen  upon  his  face 
seemed  to  have  come  back  to  it  —  youth,  hope, 
resolution,  tenderness.  His  lips  were  trembHng 
with  the  smile  of  acutest  joy. 

Suddenly  he  stretched  out  his  arms,  and 
crying,  ** Alice!"  started  forward  and  fell  — 
dead  —  on  the  breast  of  his  adopted  son. 


THE    EVENING   BRINGS    ALL    HOME. 


163 


$.^?^  RAW !  Craw !  Craw  ! 
The  crows  flapped 
slowly  home,  and 
the  Gaffers  moved 
off  too.  The  sun 
was  down,  and 
''damps  "  are  bad 
for  "rheumatics." 
''  It's  a  strange 
tale,"  said  Gaffer 
II.,  "but  if  all's 
true  ye  tell  me, 
there's  not  too 
many  like  him." 
"That's  right  enough,"  Gaffer  I.  admitted. 
"  He's  been  t'  same  all  through,  and  ye  should 
ha'  seen  the  burying  he  gave  t'  old  chap.  He 
was  rare  and  good  to  him  by  all  accounts,  and 
never  gainsaid  him  ought,  except  i'  not  lifting 
his  voice  as  he  should  ha'  done  at  t'  grave. 
Jack  sings  a  bass  solo  as  well  as  any  man  i'  t' 


164  DADDY    DARWIN's    DOVECOT. 

place ;  but  he  stood  yonder,  for  all  t'  world  like 
one  of  them  crows,  black  o'  visage,  and  black 
wi'  funeral  clothes,  and  choked  with  crying  like 
a  child  i'stead  of  a  man." 

"Well,  well,  t'  old  chap  were  all  he  had, 
I  reckon,"  said  Gaffer  II. 

"  That's  right  enough ;  and  for  going  back- 
wards, as  ye  may  say,  and  setting  a  wild  graff 
on  an  old  standard,  yon  will's  done  well  for 
DADDY    DARWIN'S   DOVECOT." 


THE  BLIND   MAN   AND   THE  TALK- 
ING  DOG. 


:>>9ic 


There  was  once  an  old  man  whom  Fortune 
(whose  own  eyes  are  bandaged)  had  deprived 
of  his  sight.  She  had  taken  his  hearing  also, 
so  that  he  was  deaf.  Poor  he  had  always  been, 
and  as  Time  had  stolen  his  youth  and  strength 
from  him,  they  had  only  left  a  light  burden  for 
Death  to  carry  when  he  should  come  the  old 
man's  way. 

But  Love  (who  is  blind  also)  had  given  the 
Blind  Man  a  Dog,  who  led  him  out  in  the  morn- 
ing to  a  seat  in  the  sun  under  the  crab-tree,  and 
held  his  hat  for  wayside  alms,  and  brought  him 
safely  home  at  sunset. 

The  Dog  was  wise  and  faithful  —  as  dogs 
often  are  —  but  the  wonder  of  him  was  that  he 
(165) 


l66     THE    BLIND    MAN    AND    THE    TALKING    DOG. 

coifld  talk.  In  which  will  be  seen  the  difference 
between  dogs  and  men,  most  of  whom  can  talk  ; 
whilst  it  is  a  matter  for  admiration  if  they  are 
wise  and  faithful. 

One  day  the  Mayor's  little  son  came  down 
the  road,  and  by  the  hand  he  held  his  playmate 
Aldegunda. 

"Give  the  poor  Blind  Man  a  penny,"  said  she. 

"You  are  always  wanting  me  to  give  away 
my  money,"  replied  the  boy  peevishly.  "It  is 
well  that  my  father  is  the  richest  man  in  the 
town,  and  that  I  have  a  whole  silver  crown  yet 
in  my  pocket." 

But  he  put  the  penny  into  the  hat  which  the 
Dog  held  out,  and  the  Dog  gave  it  to  his  master. 

"  Heaven  bless  you,"  said  the  Blind  Man. 

"Amen,"  said  the  Dog. 

"  Aldegunda  !  Aldegunda  !  "  cried  the  boy, 
dancing  with  delight.  "  Here  is  a  dog  who 
can  talk.  I  would  give  my  silver  crown  for 
him.  Old  man,  I  say,  old  man !  Will  you 
sell  me  your  dog  for  a  silver  crown  ? " 


THE    NEST    OF    A    BLIND    BIRD. 


167 


"  My  master  is  deaf  as  well  as  blind,"  said 
the  Dog. 

*'  What  a  miserable  old  creature  he  must  be," 
said  the  boy  compassionately. 


"  Men  do  not  smile  when  they  are  miserable, 
do  they } "  said  the  Dog ;  "  and  my  master 
smiles  sometimes  —  when  the  sun  warms  right 


l68     THE   BLIND    MAN    AND    THE    TALKING   DOG. 

through  our  coats  to  our  bones ;  when  he  feels 
the  hat  shake  against  his  knee  as  the  pennies 
drop  in  ;  and  when  I  Hck  his  hand." 

"  But  for  all  that,  he  is  a  poor  wretched  old 
beggar,  in  want  of  everything,"  persisted  the 
boy.  "  Now  I  am  the  Mayor's  only  son,  and 
he  is  the  richest  man  in  the  town.  Come 
and  live  with  me,  and  I  will  give  the  Blind 
Man  my  silver  crown.  I  should  be  perfectly 
happy  if  I  had  a  talking  dog  of  my  own." 

**It  is  worth  thinking  of,"  said  the  Dog. 
"  I  should  certainly  like  a  master  who  was 
perfectly  happy.  You  are  sure  that  there 
is  nothing  else  that  you  wish  for.?" 

"I  wish  I  were  a  man,"  replied  the  boy. 
"To  do  exactly  as  I  chose,  and  have  plenty 
of  money  to  spend,  and  holidays  all  the  year 
round." 

"That  sounds  well,"  said  the  Dog.  "Per- 
haps I  had  better  wait  till  you  grow  up.  There 
is  nothing  else  that  you  want,  I  suppose .? " 

"  I  want  a  horse,"  said  the  boy,  "  a  real  black 


WHAT    WE    HAVE    WE    PRIZE    NOT.  1 69 

charger.  My  father  ought  to  know  that  I  am 
too  old  for  a  hobby-horse.  It  vexes  me  to  look 
at  it." 

"I  must  wait  for  the  charger,  I  see,"  said 
the  Dog.  "  Nothing  vexes  you  but  the  hobby- 
horse, I  hope .?  " 

"Aldegunda  vexes  me  more  than  anything," 
answered  the  boy,  with  an  aggrieved  air;  "and 
it's  very  hard  when  I  am  so  fond  of  her.  She 
always  tumbles  down  when  we  run  races,  her 
legs  are  so  short.  It's  her  birthday  to-day, 
but  she  toddles  as  badly  as  she  did  yesterday, 
though  she's  a  year  older." 

"  She  will  have  learned  to  run  by  the  time 
that  you  are  a  man,"  said  the  Dog.  "  So  nice 
a  little  lady  can  give  you  no  other  cause  of 
annoyance,  I  am  sure  ? " 

The  boy  frowned. 

"She  is  always  wanting  something.  She 
wants  something  now,  I  see.  What  do  you 
want,  Aldegunda  ? " 

"  I    wish  — "    said    Aldegunda,   timidly,    "  I 


I/O      THE    BLIND    MAN    AND    THE    TALKING    DOG. 

should  like  —  the  blind  man  to  have  the  silver 
crown,  and  for  us  to  keep  the  penny,  if  you  can 
get  it  back  out  of  the  hat." 

**  That's  just  the  way  you  go  on,"  said  the 
boy  angrily.  "You  always  think  differently 
from  me.  Now  remember,  Aldegunda,  I  won't 
marry  you  when  you  grow  big,  unless  you  agree 
with  what  I  do,  like  the  wife  in  the  story  of 
'What  the  Goodman  does  is  sure  to  be  right.'  " 

On  hearing  this,  Aldegunda  sobbed  till  she 
burst  the  strings  of  her  hat,  and  the  boy  had 
to  tie  them  afresh. 

"  I  won't  marry  you  at  all  if  you  cry,"  said  he. 

But  at  that  she  only  cried  the  more,  and  they 
went  away  bickering  into  the  green  lanes. 

As  to  the  old  man,  he  had  heard  nothing  ; 
and  when  the  dog  licked  his  withered  hand,  he 
smiled. 

Many  a  time  did  the  boy  return  with  his  play- 
mate to  try  and  get  the  Talking  Dog.  But  the 
Dog  always  asked  if  he  had  yet  got  all  that  he 
wanted,  and,  being  an  honorable  child,  the  boy 


WHILES    WE    ENJOY    IT.  I /I 

was  too  truthful  to  say  that  he  was  content 
when  he  was  not. 

"The  day  that  you  want  nothing  more  but 
me  I  will  be  your  dog,"  it  said.  **  Unless,  in- 
deed, my  present  master  should  have  attained 
perfect  happiness  before  you." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  that,"  said  the  boy. 

In  time  the  Mayor  died,  and  his  widow 
moved  to  her  native  town  and  took  her  son 
with  her. 

Years  passed,  and  the  Blind  Man  lived  on; 
for  when  one  gets  very  old  and  keeps  very  quiet 
in  his  little  corner  of  the  world,  Death  seems 
sometimes  to  forget  to  remove  him. 

Years  passed,  and  the  Mayor's  son  became  a 
man,  and  was  strong  and  rich,  and  had  a  fine 
black  charger.  Aldegunda  grew  up  also.  She 
was  very  beautiful,  wonderfully  beautiful,  and 
Love  (who  is  blind)  gave  her  to  her  old  play- 
mate. 

The  wedding  was  a  fine  one,  and  when  it  was 
over  the  bridegroom  mounted  his  black  charger 


1/2   THE  BLIND  MAN  AND  THE  TALKING  DOG. 

and  took  his  bride  behind  him,  and  rode  away 
into  the  green  lanes. 

"Ah,  what  delight!"  he  said.  "Now  we 
will  ride  through  the  town  where  we  lived  when 
we  were  children  ;  and  if  the  Blind  Man  is  stil] 
alive,  you  shall  give  him  a  silver  crown ;  and  if 
the  Talking  Dog  is  alive,  I  shall  claim  him, 
for  to-day  I  am  perfectly  happy  and  want 
nothing." 

Aldegunda  thought  to  herself  —  "  We  are  so 
happy,  and  have  so  much,  that  I  do  not  like  to 
take  the  Blind  Man's  dog  from  him  ;  "  but  she 
did  not  dare  to  say  so.  One  —  if  not  two  — 
must  bear  and  forbear  to  be  happy  even  on  one's 
wedding  day. 

By-and-bye  they  rode  under  the  crab-tree,  but 
the  seat  was  empty.  "  What  has  become  of  the 
Blind  Man  ? "  the  Mayor's  son  asked  of  a  peas- 
ant who  was  near. 

"He  died  two  days  ago,"  said  the  peasant. 
"  He  is  buried  to-day,  and  the  priest  and  chant- 
ers are  now  returning  from  the  grave." 


"  The  bridegroom  mounted  his  black  charger  and  took 
his  bride  behind  him,  and  rode  away  into  the 
green  lanes."— Page  171. 

(173) 


174     THE    BLIND    MAN    AND    THE    TALKING    DOG. 

"  And  the  Talking  Dog  ?  "  asked  the  young 
man. 

"  He  is  at  the  grave  now,"  said  the  peasant ; 
"but  he  has  neither  spoken  nor  eaten  since  his 
master  died." 

"  We  have  come  in  the  nick  of  time,"  said 
the  young  man  triumphantly,  and  he  rode  to 
the  churchyard. 

By  the  grave  was  the  dog,  as  the  man  had 
said,  and  up  the  winding  path  came  the  priest 
and  his  young  chanters,  who  sang  with  shrill, 
clear  voices  —  "  Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in 
the  Lord." 

"  Come  and  live  with  me,  now  your  old  mas- 
ter is  gone,"  said  the  young  man,  stooping  over 
the  dog.     But  he  made  no  reply. 

"I  think  he  is  dead,  sir,"  said  the  grave-digger. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  the  young  man 
fretfully.  "  He  was  an  Enchanted  Dog,  and  he 
promised  I  should  have  him  when  I  could  say 
what  I  am  ready  to  say  now.  He  should  have 
kept  his  promise." 


BLESSED    ARE   THE    DEAD.  1 75 

But  Aldegunda  had  taken  the  dog's  cold  head 
into  her  arms,  and  her  tears  fell  fast  over  it. 

"  You  forget,"  she  said ;  "  he  only  promised 
to  come  to  you  when  you  were  happy,  if  his  old 
master  were  not  happier  first ;  and,  per- 
haps,  " 

"  I  remember  that  you  always  disagree  with 
me,"  said  the  young  man,  impatiently.  "You 
always  did  do  so.  Tears  on  our  wedding-day, 
too !  I  suppose  the  truth  is  that  no  one  is 
happy." 

Aldegunda  made  no  answer,  for  it  is  not  from 
those  one  loves  that  he  will  willingly  learn  that 
with  a  selfish  and  imperious  temper  happiness 
never  dwells. 

And  as  they  rode  away  again  into  the  green 
lanes,  the  shrill  voices  of  the  chanters  followed 
them  —  "Blessed  are  the  dead.  Blessed  are  the 
dead." 


"  so-so. 


3j«=:c 


E  sure,  my  child,"  said 

the  widow   to  her 

little     daughter, 

"that    you   always 

do  just  as  you 

are  told." 

"  Very  well, 
Mother." 

"  Or  at  any 
rate  do  what 
will  do  just  as  well,"  said  the  small  house-dog, 
as  he  lay  blinking  at  the  fire. 

"  You  darling  !  "  cried  little  Joan,  and  she  sat 

down  on  the  hearth  and  hugged  him.     But  he 

got   up    and    shook   himself,   and  moved   three 

turns  nearer  the  oven,  to  be   out  of  the  way ; 

(177) 


178  ''so-so." 

for  though  her  arms  were  soft  she  had  kept  her 
doll  in  them,  and  that  was  made  of  wood,  which 
hurts. 

"  What  a  dear,  kind  house-dog  you  are  !  "  said 
little  Joan,  and  she  meant  what  she  said,  for  it 
does  feel  nice  to  have  the  sharp  edges  of  one's 
duty  a  little  softened  off  for  one. 

He  was  no  particular  kind  of  a  dog,  but  he 
was  very  smooth  to  stroke,  and  had  a  nice  way 
of  blinking  with  his  eyes,  which  it  was  soothing 
to  see.  There  had  been  a  difficulty  about  his 
name.  The  name  of  the  house-dog  before  him 
was  Faithful,  and  well  it  became  him,  as  his 
tombstone  testified.  The  one  before  that  was 
called  Wolf.  He  was  very  wild,  and  ended  his 
days  on  the  gallows,  for  worrying  sheep.  The 
little  house-dog  never  chased  anything,  to  the 
widow's  knowledge.  There  was  no  reason 
whatever  for  giving  him  a  bad  name,  and  she 
thought  of  several  good  ones,  such  as  Faithful, 
and  Trusty,  and  Keeper,  which  are  fine  old- 
fashioned  titles,  but  none  of  these  seemed  quite 


A    VERY   NICE    SOFT    NAME.  1 79 

perfectly  to  suit  him.  So  he  was  called  So-so  ; 
and  a  very  nice  soft  name  it  is. 

The  widow  was  only  a  poor  woman,  though 
she  contrived  by  her  industry  to  keep  a  decent 
home  together,  and  to  get  now  one  and  now 
another  little  comfort  for  herself  and  her  child. 

One  day  she  was  going  out  on  business,  and 
she  called  her  little  daughter  and  said  to  her, 
"  I  am  going  out  for  two  hours.  You  are  too 
young  to  protect  yourself  and  the  house,  and 
So-so  is  not  as  strong  as  Faithful  was.  But 
when  I  go,  shut  the  house-door  and  bolt  the  big 
wooden  bar,  and  be  sure  that  you  do  not  open 
it  for  any  reason  whatever  till  I  return.  If 
strangers  come.  So-so  may  bark,  which  he  can 
do  as  well  as  a  bigger  dog.  Then  they  will  go 
away.  With  this  summer's  savings  I  have 
bought  a  quilted  petticoat  for  you  and  a  duffle 
cloak  for  myself  against  the  winter,  and  if  I  get 
the  work  I  am  going  after  to-day,  I  shall  buy 
enough  wool  to  knit  warm  stockings  for  us  both. 
So   be   patient  till  I  return,  and  then  we  will 


i8o  ''so-so." 

have  the  plum-cake  that  is  in  the  cupboard  for 
tea." 

''Thank you,  Mother." 

"  Good-bye,  my  child.  Be  sure  you  do  just 
as  I  have  told  you,"  said  the  widow. 

"Very  well,  Mother." 

Little  Joan  laid  down  her  doll,  and  shut  the 
house-door,  and  fastened  the  big  bolt.  It  was 
very  heavy,  and  the  kitchen  looked  gloomy 
when  she  had  done  it. 

"  I  wish  Mother  had  taken  us  all  three  with 
her,  and  had  locked  the  house  and  put  the  key 
in  her  big  pocket,  as  she  has  done  before,"  said 
little  Joan,  as  she  got  into  the  rocking-chair,  to 
put  her  doll  to  sleep. 

"  Yes,  it  would  have  done  just  as  well,"  So-so 
replied  as  he  stretched  himself  on  the  hearth. 

By-and-bye  Joan  grew  tired  of  hushabying 
the  doll,  who  looked  none  the  sleepier  for  it, 
and  she  took  the  three-legged  stool  and  sat 
down  in  front  of  the  clock  to  watch  the  hands. 
After  awhile  she  drew  a  deep  sigh. 


PARLEYING    WITH    EVIL.  l8l 

"There  are  sixty  seconds  in  every  single 
minute,  So-so,"  said  she. 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  said  So-so.  He  was 
snuffing  in  the  back  place,  which  was  not 
usually  allowed. 

"And  sixty  whole  minutes  in  every  hour. 
So-so." 

"  You  don't  say  so ! "  growled  So-so.  He 
had  not  found  a  bit,  and  the  cake  was  on  the 
top  shelf.  There  was  not  so  much  as  a  spilt 
crumb,  though  he  snuffed  in  every  corner  of 
the  kitchen,  till  he  stood  snuffing  under  the 
house-door. 

"  The  air  smells  fresh,"  he  said. 

"  It's  a  beautiful  day,  I  know,"  said  little 
Joan.  "I  wish  Mother  had  allowed  us  to  sit 
on  the  doorstep.  We  could  have  taken  care  of 
the  house " 

"Just  as  well,"  said  So-so. 

Little  Joan  came  to  smell  the  air  at  the  key- 
hole, and,  as  So-so  had  said,  it  smelt  very  fresh. 
Besides,  one  could  see  from  the  window  how 
fine  the  evening  was. 


i82  "so-so." 

"  It*s  not  exactly  what  Mother  told  us  to  do," 
said  Joan,  "but  I  do  believe " 

"  It  would  do  just  as  well,"  said  So-so. 

By-and-bye  little  Joan  unfastened  the  bar,  and 
opened  the  door,  and  she  and  the  doll  and  So- 
so  went  out  and  sat  on  the  doorstep. 

Not  a  stranger  was  to  be  seen.  The  sun 
shone  delightfully.  An  evening  sun,  and  not 
too  hot.  All  day  it  had  been  ripening  the  corn 
in  the  field  close  by,  and  this  glowed  and  waved 
in  the  breeze. 

"It  does  just  as  well,  and  better,"  said  little 
Joan,  "for  if  anyone  comes  we  can  see  him 
coming  up  the  field-path." 

"Just  so,"  said  So-so,  blinking  in  the  sun- 
shine. 

Suddenly  Joan  jumped  up. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  she,  "  there's  a  bird,  a  big  bird. 
Dear  So-so,  can  you  see  him  ?  I  can't,  because 
of  the  sun.  What  a  queer  noise  he  makes. 
Crake  !  crake !  Oh,  I  can  see  him  now !  He 
is  not  flying,  he  is  running,  and  he  has  gone 


ONLY    THREE    OF    US.  I83 

into  the  corn.  I  do  wish  I  were  in  the 
corn,  I  would  catch  him,  and  put  him  in  a 
cage." 

"I'll  catch  him,"  said  So-so,  and  he  put  up 
his  tail,  and  started  off. 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  Joan.  *'  You  are  not  to  go. 
You  must  stay  and  take  care  of  the  house,  and 
bark  if  anyone  comes." 

"You  could  scream,  and  that  would  do  just 
as  well,"  replied  So-so,  with  his  tail  still  up. 

"No,  it  wouldn't,"  cried  little  Joan. 

"Yes,  it  would,"  reiterated  So-so. 

Whilst  they  were  bickering,  an  old  woman 
came  up  to  the  door ;  she  had  a  brown  face,  and 
black  hair,  and  a  very  old  red  cloak. 

"Good  evening,  my  little  dear,"  said  she. 
"Are  you  all  at  home  this  fine  evening.^" 

"  Only  three  of  us,"  said  Joan ;  "  I,  and  my 
doll,  and  So-so.  Mother  has  gone  to  the  town 
on  business,  and  we  are  taking  care  of  the  house, 
but  So-so  wants  to  go  after  the  bird  we  saw  run 
into  the  corn." 


i84  "so-so." 

"Was  it  a  pretty  bird,  my  little  dear?"  asked 
the  old  woman. 

"  It  was  a  very  curious  one,"  said  Joan,  "and 
I  should  like  to  go  after  it  myself,  but  we  can't 
leave  the  house." 

"Dear,  dear!  Is  there  no  neighbor  would 
sit  on  the  doorstep  for  you  and  keep  the  house 
till  you  just  slip  down  to  the  field  after  the 
curious  bird  ? "  said  the  old  woman. 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  said  little  Joan.  "Old 
Martha,  our  neighbor,  is  now  bedridden.  Of 
course,  if  she  had  been  able  to  mind  the  house 
instead  of  us,  it  would  have  done  just  as  well." 

"  I  have  some  distance  to  go  this  evening," 
said  the  old  woman,  "  but  I  do  not  object  to 
a  few  minutes'  rest,  and  sooner  than  that  you 
should  lose  the  bird  I  will  sit  on  the  doorstep 
to  oblige  you,  while  you  run  down  to  the 
cornfield." 

"  But  can  you  bark  if  anyone  comes  ? "  asked 
little  Joan.  "  For  if  you  can't.  So-so  must  stay 
with  you." 


THEY    DID    NOT    CATCH    THE    BIRD.  1 85 

**  I  can  call  you  and  the  dog  if  I  see  anyone 
coming,  and  that  will  do  just  as  well,"  said  the 
old  woman. 

"  So  it  will,"  replied  little  Joan,  and  off  she 
ran  to  the  cornfield,  where,  for  that  matter. 
So-so  had  run  before  her,  and  was  bounding  and 
barking  and  springing  among  the  wheat-stalks. 

They  did  not  catch  the  bird,  though  they 
stayed  longer  than  they  had  intended,  and 
though  So-so  seemed  to  know  more  about 
hunting  than  was  supposed. 

*'I  dare  say  Mother  has  come  home,"  said 
little  Joan,  as  they  went  back  up  the  field-path. 
"  I  hope  she  won't  think  we.  ought  to  have 
stayed  in  the  house." 

"It  was  taken  care  of,"  said  So-so,  "and  that 
must  do  just  as  well." 

When  they  reached  the  house,  the  widow  had 
not  come  home. 

But  the  old  woman  had  gone,  and  she  had 
taken  the  quilted  petticoat  and  the  duffle  cloak, 
and  the  plum-cake  from  the  top  shelf  away  with 


i86  *' so-so." 

her ;  and  no  more  was  ever  heard  of  any  of  the 
lot. 

"  For  the  future,  my  child,"  said  the  widow, 
"  I  hope  you  will  always  do  just  as  you  are  told, 
whatever  So-so  may  say." 

"I  will.  Mother,"  said  little  Joan.  (And  she 
did.)  But  the  house-dog  sat  and  blinked.  He 
dared  not  speak,   he  was  in  disgrace. 

I  do  not  feel  quite  sure  about  So-so.  Wild 
dogs  often  amend  their  ways  far  on  this  side  of 
the  gallows,  and  the  Faithful  sometimes  fall ; 
but  when  anyone  begins  by  being  only  So-so, 
he  is  very  apt  to  be  So-so  to  the  end.  So-sos 
so  seldom  change. 

But  this  one  was  very  soft  and  nice,  and 
he  got  no  cake  that  tea-time.  On  the  whole 
we  will  hope  that  he  lived  to  be  a  Good  Dog 
ever  after. 


THE  TRINITY   FLOWER. 


A   LEGEND. 


3>»iC 


Break  forth,  my  lips,  in  praise,  and  own 

The  wiser  love  severely  kind  : 
Since,  richer  for  its  chastening  grown, 

I  see,  whereas  I  once  was  blind." 

The  Clear  Vision,  J.  G.  Whittier. 

'N  days  of  yore  there 

was  once  a  certain 

y    hermit,  who  dwelt, 

in  a  cell,  which  he 

had     fashioned 

for  himself  from 

a    natural    cave 

in  the  side  of  a 

hill. 

Now  this  her- 
mit had  a  great 
love  for  flowers,   and  was  moreover  learned  in 
the  virtues  of  herbs,  and  in  that  great  mystery 
(187) 


1 88  THE    TRINITY    FLOWER. 

of  healing  which  lies  hidden  among  the  green 
things  of  God.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that 
the  country  people  from  all  parts  came  to  him 
for  the  simples  which  grew  in  the  little  garden 
which  he  had  made  before  his  cell.  And  as 
his  fame  spread,  and  more  people  came  to  him, 
he  added  more  and  more  to  the  plat  which  he 
had  reclaimed  from  the  waste  land  around. 

But  after  many  years  there  came  a  Spring 
when  the  colors  of  the  flowers  seemed  paler 
to  the  hermit  than  they  used  to  be  ;  and  as 
Summer  drew  on,  their  shapes  became  indistinct, 
and  he  mistook  one  plant  for  another;  and 
when  Autumn  came,  he  told  them  by  their 
various  scents,  and  by  their  form,  rather  than 
by  sight ;  and  when  the  flowers  were  gone, 
and  Winter  had  come,  the  hermit  was  quite 
blind. 

Now  in  the  hamlet  below  there  lived  a  boy 
who  had  become  known  to  the  hermit  on  this 
manner.  On  the  edge  of  the  hermit's  garden 
there  grew  two  crab  trees,  from   the  fruit   of 


MY    MASTER    HATH    A    GARDEN.  1 89 

which  he  made  every  year  a  certain  confection, 
which  was  very  grateful  to  the  sick.  One  year 
many  of  these  crab-apples  were  stolen,  and  the 
sick  folk  of  the  hamlet  had  very  little  conserve. 
So  the  following  year,  as  the  fruit  was  ripen- 
ing, the  hermit  spoke  every  day  to  those  who 
came  to  his  cell,  saying :  — 

"  I  pray  you,  good  people,  to  make  it  known 
that  he  who  robs  these  crab  trees,  robs  not  me 
alone,  which  is  dishonest,  but  the  sick,  which 
is  inhuman." 

And  yet  once  more  the  crab-apples  were 
taken. 

The  following  evening,  as  the  hermit  sat  on 
the  side  of  the  hill,  he  overheard  two  boys  dis- 
puting about  the  theft. 

"  It  must  either  have  been  a  very  big  man, 
or  a  small  boy  to  do  it,"  said  one.  "  So  I  say, 
and  I  have  my  reason." 

*' And  what  is  thy  reason.  Master  Wiseacre.-*" 
asked  the  other. 

*'  The  fruit  is  too  high  to  be  plucked  except 


IQO  THE    TRINITY    FLOWER. 

by  a  very  big  man,"  said  the  first  boy.  "And 
the  branches  are  not  strong  enough  for  any  but 
a  child  to  climb." 

**  Canst  thou  think  of  no  other  way  to  rob  an 
apple  tree  but  by  standing  a-tip-toe,  or  climbing 
up  to  the  apples,  when  they  should  come  down  to 
thee  ?  "  said  the  second  boy.  **  Truly  thy  head 
will  never  save  thy  heels ;  but  here's  a  riddle 
for  thee : 

Riddle  me  riddle  me  re, 
Four  big  brothers  are  we ; 
We  gather  the  fruit,  but  climb  never  a  tree. 

Who  are  they  ?  " 

''Four  tall  robbers,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
other. 

"Tush  !  "  cried  his  comrade.  "They  are  the 
four  winds ;  and  when  they  whistle,  down  falls 
the  ripest.  But  others  can  shake  besides  the 
winds,  as  I  will  shew  thee  if  thou  hast  any 
doubts  in  the  matter." 

And  as  he  spoke  he  sprang  to  catch  the 
other  boy,  who  ran  from  him  ;  and  they  chased 


WHICH    FAIR    FLOWERS    ADORN.  I9I 

each  other  down  the  hill,  and  the  hermit  heard 
no  more. 

But  as  he  turned  to  go  home  he  said,  *'  The 
thief  was  not  far  away  when  thou  stoodst  near. 
Nevertheless,  I  will  have  patience.  It  needs 
not  that  I  should  go  to  seek  thee,  for  what  saith 
the  Scripture  ?  Thy  sin  will  find  thee  out." 
And  he  made  conserve  of  such  apples  as  were 
left,  and  said  nothing. 

Now  after  a  certain  time  a  plague  broke  out 
in  the  hamlet ;  and  it  was  so  sore,  and  there 
were  so  few  to  nurse  the  many  who  were  sick, 
that,  though  it  was  not  the  wont  of  the  hermit 
ever  to  leave  his  place,  yet  in  their  need  he 
came  down  and  ministered  to  the  people  in 
the  village.  And  one  day,  as  he  passed  a 
certain  house,  he  heard  moans  from  within,  and 
entering,  he  saw'  lying  upon  a  bed  a  boy  who 
tossed  and  moaned  in  fever,  and  cried  out  most 
miserably  that  his  throat  was  parched  and 
burning.  And  when  the  hermit  looked  upon 
his  face,  behold  it  was  the  boy  who  had  given 


192  THE    TRINITY    FLOWER. 

the  riddle  of  the  four  winds  upon  the  side  of 
the  hill. 

Then  the  hermit  fed  him  with  some  of  the 
confection  which  he  had  with  him,  and  it  was 
so  grateful  to  the  boy's  parched  palate,  that 
he  thanked  and  blessed  the  hermit  aloud,  and 
prayed  him  to  leave  a  morsel  of  it  behind,  to 
soothe  his  torments  in  the  night. 

Then  said  the  hermit,  "  My  Son,  I  would  that 
I  had  more  of  this  confection,  for  the  sake  of 
others  as  well  as  for  thee.  But  indeed  I  have 
only  two  trees  which  bear  the  fruit  whereof  this 
is  made ;  and  in  two  successive  years  have  the 
apples  been  stolen  by  some  thief,  thereby  rob- 
bing not  only  me,  which  is  dishonest,  but  the 
poor,  which  is  inhuman." 

Then  the  boy's  theft  came  back  to  his  mind, 
and  he  burst  into  tears,  and  cried,  "  My  Father, 
I  took  the  crab-apples  !  " 

And  after  awhile  he  recovered  his  health ; 
the  plague  also  abated  in  the  hamlet,  jnd  the 
hermit   went   back   to   his   cell.     But   the   boy 


REU,  DES  HERZENS  ARZNEI.        I93 

would  thenceforth  never  leave  him,  always 
wishing  to  shew  his  penitence  and  gratitude. 
And  though  the  hermit  sent  him  away,  he  ever 
returned,  saying, 

*'  Of  what  avail  is  it  to  drive  me  from  thee, 
since  I  am  resolved  to  serve  thee,  even  as 
Samuel  served  Eli,  and  Timothy  ministered 
unto  St.  Paul?" 

But  the  hermit  said,  "My  rule  is  to  live 
alone,  and  without  companions  ;  wherefore  be- 
gone." 

And  when  the  boy  still  came,  he  drove  him 
from  the  garden. 

Then  the  boy  wandered  far  and  wide,  over 
moor  and  bog,  and  gathered  rare  plants  and 
herbs,  and  laid  them  down  near  the  hermit's 
cell.  And  when  the  hermit  was  inside,  the  boy 
came  into  the  garden,  and  gathered  the  stones 
and  swept  the  paths,  and  tied  up  such  plants 
as  were  drooping,  and  did  all  neatly  and  well, 
for  he  was  a  quick  and  skilful  lad.  And  when 
the  hermit  said. 


194  THE    TRINITY    FLOWER. 

"  Thou  hast  done  well,  and  I  thank  thee ; 
but  now  begone,"  he  only  answered, 

"  What  avails  it,  when  I  am  resolved  to  serve 
thee?" 

So  at  last  there  came  a  day  when  the  hermit 
said,  "  It  may  be  that  it  is  ordained ;  wherefore 
abide,  my  Son." 

And  the  boy  answered,  "Even  so,  for  I  am 
resolved  to  serve  thee/' 

Thus  he  remained.  And  thenceforward  the 
hermit's  garden  throve  as  it  had  never  thriven 
before.  For,  though  he  had  skill,  the  hermit 
was  old  and  feeble  ;  but  the  boy  was  young  and 
active,  and  he  worked  hard,  and  it  was  to  him  a 
labor  of  love.  And  being  a  clever  boy,  he 
quickly  knew  the  names  and  properties  of  the 
plants  as  well  as  the  hermit  himself.  And  when 
he  was  not  working,  he  would  go  far  afield  to 
seek  for  new  herbs.  And  he  always  returned 
to  the  village  at  night. 

Now  when  the  hermit's  sight  began  to  fail, 
the  boy  put  him  right  if  he  mistook  one  plant 


ROSEMARY    FOR    REMEMBRANCE.  I95 

for  another ;  and  when  the  hermit  became 
quite  blind,  he  rehed  completely  upon  the  boy 
to  gather  for  him  the  herbs  that  he  wanted. 
And  when  anything  new  was  planted,  the  boy 
led  the  old  man  to  the  spot,  that  he  might  know 
that  it  was  so  many  paces  in  such  a  direction 
from  the  cell,  and  might  feel  the  shape  and 
texture  of  the  leaves,  and  learn  its  scent.  And 
through  the  skill  and  knowledge  of  the  boy, 
the  hermit  was  in  no  wise  hindered  from  pre- 
paring his  accustomed  remedies,  for  he  knew 
the  names  and  virtues  of  the  herbs,  and  where 
every  plant  grew.  And  when  the  sun  shone, 
the  boy  would  guide  his  master's  steps  into  the 
garden,  and  would  lead  him  up  to  certain  flow- 
ers ;  but  to  those  which  had  a  perfume  of  their 
own  the  old  man  could,  go  without  help,  being 
guided  by  the  scent.  And  as  he  fingered  their 
leaves  and  breathed  their  fragrance,  he  would 
say,  "  Blessed  be  God  for  every  herb  of  the 
field,  but  thrice  blessed  for  those  that 
smell." 


196  THE    TRINITY    FLOWER. 

And  at  the  end  of  the  garden  was  set  a  bush 
of  rosemary.  *^For,"  said  the  hermit,  "to  this 
we  must  all  come."  Because  rosemary  is  the 
herb  they  scatter  over  the  dead.  And  he  knew 
where  almost  everything  grew,  and  what  he  did 
not  know  the  boy  told  him. 

Yet  for  all  this,  and  though  he  had  embraced 
poverty  and  solitude  with  joy,  in  the  service  of 
God  and  man,  yet  so  bitter  was  blindness  to 
him,  that  he  bewailed  the  loss  of  his  sight,  with 
a  grief  that  never  lessened. 

"For,"  said  he,  "if  it  had  pleased  our  Lord 
to  send  me  any  other  affliction,  such  as  a  con- 
tinual pain  or  a  consuming  sickness,  I  would 
have  borne  it  gladly,  seeing  it  would  have  left 
me  free  to  see  these  herbs,  which  I  use  for  the 
benefit  of  the  poor.  But  now  the  sick  suffer 
through  my  blindness,  and  to  this  boy  also  I 
am  a  continual  burden." 

And  when  the  boy  called  him  at  the  hours  of 
prayer,  saying,  "  My  Father,  it  is  now  time  for 
the  Nones  office,  for  the  marygold  is  closing," 


THE   JOY    THAT    MIXES    MAN    WITH    HEAVEN.     I97 

or,  ''  The  Vespers  bell  will  soon  sound  from  the 
valley,  for  the  bindweed  bells  are  folded,"  and 
the  hermit  recited  the  appointed  prayers,  he 
always  added, 

"  I  beseech  Thee  take  away  my  blindness, 
as  Thou  didst  heal  Thy  servant  the  son  of 
Timaeus." 

And  as  the  boy  and  he  sorted  herbs,  he  cried, 

"Is  there  no  balm  in  Gilead  ? " 

And  the  boy  answered,  "  The  balm  of  Gilead 
grows  six  full  paces  from  the  gate,  my 
Father." 

But  the  hewnit  said,  "  I  spoke  in  a  figure,  my 
Son.  I  meant  not  that  herb.  But,  alas !  Is 
there  no  remedy  to  heal  the  physician  ?  No 
cure  for  the  curer  ? " 

And  the  boy's  heart  grew  heavier  day  by  day, 
because  of  the  hermit's  grief.  For  he  loved 
him. 

Now  one  morning  as  the  boy  came  up  from 
the  village,  the  hermit  met  him,  groping  pain- 
fully with  his  hands,  but  with  joy  in  his  coun- 


198  THE   TRINITY    FLOWER. 

tenance,  and  he  said,  "  Is  that  thy  step,  my  Son  ? 
Come  in,  for  I  have  somewhat  to  tell  thee." 

And  he  said,  "  A  vision  has  been  vouchsafed 
to  me,  even  a  dream.  Moreover,  I  believe  that 
there  shall  be  a  cure  for  my  blindness." 

Then  the  boy  was  glad,  and  begged  of  the 
hermit  to  relate  his  dream,  which  he  did  as 
follows  :  — 

"  I  dreamed,  and  behold  I  stood  in  the  garden 
—  thou  also  with  me  —  and  many  people  were 
gathered  at  the  gate,  to  whom,  with  thy  help,  I 
gave  herbs  of  healing  in  such  fashion  as  I  have 
been  able  since  this  blindness  c^me  upon  me. 
And  when  they  were  gone,  I  smote  upon  my 
forehead,  and  said,  'Where  is  the  herb  that  shall 
heal  my  affliction  ? '  And  a  voice  beside  me 
said,  *  Here,  my  Son.'  And  I  cried  to  thee, 
*  Who  spoke  ? '  And  thou  saidst,  '  It  is  a  man 
in  pilgrim's  weeds,  and  lo,  he  hath  a  strange 
flower  in  his  hand.'  Then  said  the  Pilgrim,  'It 
is  a  Trinity  Flower.  Moreover,  I  suppose  that 
when  thou  hast  it,  thou  wilt  see  clearly.'     Then 


SAW    DISTANT    GATES    OF    EDEN    GLEAM.        I99 

I  thought  that  thou  didst  take  the  flower  from 

the  Pilgrim  and  put  it  in  my  hand.     And  lo, 

my  eyes  were  opened,  and  I  saw  clearly.     And 

I  knew  the  Pilgrim's  face,  though  where  I  have 

seen  him  I  cannot  yet  recall.     But  I  believed 

/ 
him  to  be  Raphael  the  Archangel  —  he  who  led 

Tobias,  and  gave  sight  to  his  father.     And  even 

as  it  came  to  me  to  know  him,  he  vanished ; 

and  I  saw  him  no  more." 

"  And  what  was  the  Trinity  Flower  like,  my 
Father  ? "  asked  the  boy. 

"  It  was  about  the  size  of  Herb  Paris,  my 
son,"  replied  the  hermit.  **  But  instead  of 
being  fourfold  every  way,  it  numbered  the 
mystic  Three.  Every  part  was  threefold.  The 
leaves  were  three,  the  petals  three,  the  sepals 
three.  The  flower  was  snow-white,  but  on  each 
of  the  three  parts  it  was  stained  with  crimson 
stripes,  like  white  garments  dyed  in  blood." ^ 

Then  the  boy  started  up,  saying,  "  If  there  be 
such  a  plant  on  the  earth  I  will  find  it  for  thee." 

1  Trilliwji  erythrocarpum .     North  America. 


200  THE    TRINITY    FLOWER. 

But  the  hermit  laid  his  hand  on  him,  and 
said,  "  Nay,  my  Son,  leave  me  not,  for  I  have 
need  of  thee.  And  the  flower  will  come  yet, 
and  then  I  shall  see." 

And  all  day  long  the  old  man  murmured  to 
himself,  "Then  I  shall  see." 

*'  And  didst  thou  see  me,  and  the  garden,  in 
thy  dream,  my  Father  .-*  "  asked  the  boy. 

"Ay,  that  I  did,  my  Son.  And  I  meant  to 
say  to  thee  that  it  much  pleaseth  me  that  thou 
art  grown  so  well,  and  of  such  a  strangely  fair 
countenance.  Also  the  garden  is  such  as  I 
have  never  before  beheld  it,  which  must  needs 
be  due  to  thy  care.  But  wherefore  didst  thou 
not  tell  me  of  those  fair  palms  that  have  grown 
where  the  thorn  hedge  was  wont  to  be  ?  I  was 
but  just  stretching  out  my  hand  for  some,  when 
I  awoke." 

"There  are  no  palms  there,  my  Father,"  said 
the  boy. 

"  Now,  indeed  it  is  thy  youth  that  makes  thee 
so  little  observant,"  said  the  hermit.     "How- 


AND    DID    NOT    DREAM    IT    WAS    A    DREAM.     20I 

ever,  I  pardon  thee,  if  it  were  only  for  that  good 
thought  which  moved  thee  to  plant  a  yew  be- 
yond the  rosemary  bush ;  seeing  that  the  yew 
is  the  emblem  of  eternal  life,  which  lies  beyond 
the  grave." 

But  the  boy  said,  *'  There  is  no  yew  there,  my 
Father." 

"  Have  I  not  seen  it,  even  in  a  vision  ? " 
cried  the  hermit.  "  Thou  wilt  say  next  that  all 
the  borders  are  not  set  with  heart's-ease,  which 
indeed  must  be  through  thy  industry ;  and 
whence  they  come  I  know  not,  but  they  are 
most  rare  and  beautiful,  and  my  eyes  long  sore 
to  see  them  again." 

''Alas,  my  Father!"  cried  the  boy,  "the 
borders  are  set  with  rue,  and  there  are  but  a 
few  clumps  of  heart's-ease  here  and  there." 

"  Could  I  forget  what  I  saw  in  an  hour  ? " 
asked  the  old  man  angrily.  "  And  did  not  the 
holy  Raphael  himself  point  to  them,  saying, 
'  Blessed  are  the  eyes  that  behold  this  garden, 
where  the  borders  are  set  with  heart's-ease,  and 


202  THE   TRINITY    FLOWER. 

the  hedges  crowned  with  palm ! '  But  thou 
wouldst  know  better  than  an  archangel,  for- 
sooth." 

Then  the  boy  wept ;  and  when  the  hermit 
heard  him  weeping,  he  put  his  arm  round  him 
and  said, 

"  Weep  not,  my  dear  Son.  And  I  pray  thee, 
pardon  me  that  I  spoke  harshly  to  thee.  For 
indeed  I  am  ill-tempered  by  reason  of  my 
infirmities  ;  and  as  for  thee,  God  will  reward 
thee  for  thy  goodness  to  me,  as  I  never  can. 
Moreover,  I  believe  it  is  thy  modesty,  which  is 
as  great  as  thy  goodness,  that  hath  hindered 
thee  from  telling  me  of  all  that  thou  hast  done 
for  my  garden,  even  to  those  fair  and  sweet 
everlasting  flowers,  the  like  of  which  I  never 
saw  before,  which  thou  hast  set  in  the  east 
border,  and  where  even  now  I  hear  the  bees 
humming  in  the  sun." 

Then  the '  boy  looked  sadly  out  into  the 
garden,  and  answered,  "  I  cannot  lie  to  thee. 
There   are   no   everlasting   flowers.     It   is   the 


THEN    I    SHALL    SEE.  203 

flowers  of  the  thyme  in  which  the  bees  are 
rioting.  And  in  the  hedge  bottom  there  creep- 
eth  the  bitter-sweet." 

But  the  hermit  heard  him  not.  He  had 
groped  his  way  out  into  the  sunshine,  and 
wandered  up  and  down  the  walks,  murmuring 
to  himself,  "  Then  I  shall  see." 

Now  when  the  Summer  was  past,  one 
autumn  morning  there  came  to  the  garden  gate 
a  man  in  pilgrim's  weeds  ;  and  when  he  saw  the 
boy  he  beckoned  to  him,  and  giving  him  a 
small  tuber  root,  he  said, 

"  Give  this  to  thy  master.  It  is  the  root  of 
the  Trinity  Flower." 

And  he  passed  on  down  towards  the  valley. 

Then  the  boy  ran  hastily  to  the  hermit  ;  and 
when  he  had  told  him,  and  given  him  the  root, 
he  said, 

"  The  face  of  the  pilgrim  is  known  to  me 
also,  O  my  Father  !  For  I  remember  when  I 
lay  sick  of  the  plague,  that  ever  it  seemed  to  me 
as  if  a  shadowy  figure  passed  in  and  out,  and 


204  THE   TRINITY    FLOWER. 

went  up  and  down  the  streets,  and  his  face  was 
as  the  face  of  this  pilgrim.  But  —  I  cannot 
deceive  thee  —  methought  it  was  the  Angel  of 
Death." 

Then  the  hermit  mused ;  and  after  a  little 
space  he  answered, 

"  It  was  then  also  that  I  saw  him.  I  remem- 
ber now.  Nevertheless,  let  us  plant  the  root, 
and  abide  what  God  shall  send." 

And  thus  they  did. 

And  as  the  Autumn  and  Winter  went  by,  the 
hermit  became  very  feeble,  but  the  boy  con- 
stantly cheered  him,  saying,  "  Patience,  my 
Father.     Thou  shalt  see  yet !  " 

But  the  hermit  replied,  *'  My  son,  I  repent 
me  that  I  have  not  been  patient  under  afflic- 
tion. Moreover,  I  have  set  thee  an  ill  example, 
in  that  I  have  murmured  at  that  which  God 
—  Who  knowest  best  —  ordained  for  me." 

And  when  the  boy  ofttimes  repeated,  "  Thou 
shalt  yet  see,"  the  hermit  answered,  *'  If  God 
will.     When  God  will.     As  God  will." 


THY    WILL   BE   DONE.  205 

And  when  he  said  the  prayers  for  the  Hours, 
he  no  longer  added  what  he  had  added  before- 
time,  but  evermore  repeated,  "  If  Thou  wilt. 
When  Thou  wilt.     As  Thou  wilt !  " 

And  so  the  Winter  passed  ;  and  when  the 
snow  lay  on  the  ground  the  boy  and  the  hermit 
talked  of  the  garden  ;  and  the  boy  no  longer 
contradicted  the  old  man,  though  he  spoke 
continually  of  the  heart's-ease,  and  the  ever- 
lasting flowers,  and  the  palm.  For  he  said, 
*'  When  Spring  comes  I  may  be  able  to  get 
these  plants,  and  fit  the  garden  to  his  vision." 

And  at  length  the  Spring  came.  And  with  it 
rose  the  Trinity  Flower.  And  when  the  leaves 
unfolded,  they  were  three,  as  the  hermit  had 
said.  Then  the  boy  was  wild  with  joy  and  with 
impatience.  And  when  the  sun  shone  for  two 
days  together,  he  would  kneel  by  the  flower, 
and  say,  ''  I  pray  thee.  Lord,  send  showers,  that 
it  may  wax  apace."  And  when  it  rained,  he 
said,  "  I  pray  Thee,  send  sunshine,  that  it  may 
blossom  speedily."     For  he  knew  not  what  to 


206  THE    TRINITY    FLOWER. 

ask.  And  he  danced  about  the  hermit,  and 
cried,  **  Soon  shalt  thou  see." 

But  the  hermit  trembled,  and  said,  "Not  as 
I  will,  but  as  Thou  wilt ! " 

And  so  the  bud  formed.  And  at  length  one 
evening  before  he  went  down  to  the  hamlet, 
the  boy  came  to  the  hermit  and  said,  "  The  bud 
is  almost  breaking,  my  Father.  To-morrow 
thou  shalt  see." 

Then  the  hermit  moved  his  hands  till  he  laid 
them  on  the  boy's  head,  and  he  said, 

"  The  Lord  repay  thee  sevenfold  for  all  thou 
hast  done  for  me,  dear  child.  And  now  I  pray 
thee,  my  Son,  give  me  thy  pardon  for  all  in 
which  I  have  sinned  against  thee  by  word  or 
deed,  for  indeed  my  thoughts  of  thee  have  ever 
been  tender."  And  when  the  boy  wept,  the 
hermit  still  pressed  him,  till  he  said  that  he 
forgave  him.  And  as  they  unwillingly  parted, 
the  hermit  said,  **I  pray  thee,  dear  Son,  to 
remember  that,  though  late,  I  conformed  my- 
self to  the  will  of  God." 


I  SEE  THE  END  AND  KNOW  THE  GOOD.   20/ 

Saying  which,  the  hermit  went  into  his  cell, 
and  the  boy  returned  to  the  village. 

But  so  great  was  his  anxiety,  that  he  could 
not  rest ;  and  he  returned  to  the  garden  ere 
it  was  light,  and  sat  by  the  flower  till  the 
dawn. 

And  with  the  first  dim  light  he  saw  that  the 
Trinity  Flower  was  in  bloom.  And  as  the  her- 
mit had  said,  it  was  white,  and  stained  with 
crimson  as  with  blood. 

Then  the  boy  shed  tears  of  joy,  and  he 
plucked  the  flower  and  ran  into  the  hermit's 
cell,  where  the  hermit  lay  very  still  upon  his 
couch.  And  the  boy  said,  "  I  will  not  disturb 
him.  When  he  wakes  he  will  find  the  flower." 
And  he  went  out  and  sat  down  outside  the  cell 
and  waited.  And  being  weary  as  he  waited,  he 
fell  asleep. 

Now  before  sunrise,  whilst  it  was  yet  early, 
he  was  awakened  by  the  voice  of  the  hermit 
crying,  ''My  Son,  my  dear  Son!"  and  he 
jumped  up,  saying,  ''My  Father!" 


208  THE    TRINITY    FLOWER. 

But  as  he  spoke  the  hermit  passed  him.  And 
as  he  passed  he  turned,  and  the  boy  saw  that 
his  eyes  were  open.  And  the  hermit  fixed 
them  long  and  tenderly  on  him. 

Then  the  boy  cried,  "  Ah,  tell  me,  my  Father, 
dost  thou  see.?" 

And  he  answered,  ^^  I  see  now  f'  and  so 
passed  on  down  the  walk. 

And  as  he  went  through  the  garden,  in  the 
still  dawn,  the  boy  trembled,  for  the  hermit's 
footsteps  gave  no  sound.  And  he  passed  be- 
yond the  rosemary  bush,  and  came  not  again. 

And  when  the  day  wore  on,  and  the  hermit 
did  not  return,  the  boy  went  into  his  cell. 

Without,  the  sunshine  dried  the  dew  from 
paths  on  which  the  hermit's  feet  had  left  no 
prints,  and  cherished  the  spring  flowers  burst- 
ing into  bloom.  But  within,  the  hermit's  dead 
body  lay  stretched  upon  his  pallet,  and  the 
Trinity  Flower  was  in  his  hand. 


THE 

KYRKEGRIM  TURNED  PREACHER. 

A    LEGEND. 


T  is  said  that  in 

Norway  every 

church  has  its 

own  Niss,  or 

Brownie. 

They  are  of 

the  same  race 

as   the  Good 

People,     who 

haunt      farm 

houses,  and   do   the   maids'  work  for  a  pot  of 

cream.     They  are  the  size  of  a  year-old  child, 

but   their   faces   are   the    faces   of   aged    men. 
(209) 


2IO   THE  KYRKEGRIM  TURNED  PREACHER. 

Their  common  dress  is  of  gray  home-spun,  with 
red  peaked  caps ;  but  on  Michaelmas  Day  they 
wear  round  hats. 

The  Church  Niss  is  called  Kyrkegrim.  His 
duty  is  to  keep  the  church  clean,  and  to  scat- 
ter the  marsh-marigold  flowers  on  the  floor 
before  service.  He  also  keeps  order  in  the  con- 
gregation, pinches  those  who  fall  asleep,  cuffs 
irreverent  boys,  and  hustles  mothers  with  cry- 
ing children  out  of  church  as  quickly  and 
decorously  as  possible. 

But  his  business  is  not  with  church-brawlers 
alone. 

When  the  last  snow  avalanche  has  slipped 
from  the  high-pitched  roof,  and  the  gentian  is 
bluer  than  the  sky,  and  Baldur's  Eyebrow 
blossoms  in  the  hot  Spring  sun,  pious  folk  are 
wont  to  come  to  church  some  time  before 
service,  and  to  bring  their  spades,  and  rakes, 
and  watering-pots  with  them,  to  tend  the  graves 
of  the  dead.  The  Kyrkegrim  sits  on  the  Lych 
Gate  and  overlooks  them. 


"  But  there  was  one  fat  farmer  who  slept  during  the 
sermon,  and  do  what  the  Kyrkegrim  would,   he 
could  not  keep  him  awake." —  Page  212. 
(211) 


212   THE  KYRKEGRIM  TURNED  PREACHER. 

At  those  who  do  not  lay  by  their  tools  in 
good  time  he  throws  pebbles,  crying  to  each, 
'^  Skynde  dig!''  (Make  haste!),  and  so  drives 
them  in.  And  when  the  bells  begin,  should 
any  man  fail  to  bow  to  the  church  as  the 
custom  is,  the  Kyrkegrim  snatches  his  hat 
from  behind,  and  he  sees  it  no  more. 

Nothing  displeases  the  Kyrkegrim  more  than 
when  people  fall  asleep  during  the  sermon. 
This  will  be  seen  in  the  following  story. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  certain  country 
church,  which  was  served  by  a  very  mild  and 
excellent  priest,  and  haunted  by  a  most  active 
Kyrkegrim. 

Not  a  speck  of  dust  was  to  be  seen  from  the 
altar  to  the  porch,  and  the  behavior  of  the  con- 
gregation was  beyond  reproach. 

But  there  was  one  fat  farmer  who  slept 
during  the  sermon,  and  do  what  the  Kyrkegrim 
would,  he  could  not  keep  him  awake.  Again 
and  again  did  he  pinch  him,  nudge  him,  or  let 
in  a  cold  draught  of  wind  upon  his  neck.     The 


JUDGE  NOT  THE  PREACHER.       213 

fat  farmer  shook  himself,  pulled  up  his  neck- 
kerchief,  and  dozed  off  again. 

"Doubtless  the  fault  is  in  my  sermons,"  said 
the  priest,  when  the  Kyrkegrim  complained  to 
him.     For  he  was  humble-minded. 

But  the  Kyrkegrim  knew  that  this  was  not 
the  case,  for  there  was  no  better  preacher  in 
all  the  district. 

And  yet  when  he  overheard  the  farmer's 
sharp-tongued  little  wife  speak  of  this  and  that 
in  the  discourse,  he  began  to  think  it  might  be 
so.  No  doubt  the  preacher  spoke  somewhat 
fast  or  slow,  a  little  too  loud  or  too  soft.  And 
he  was  not  "stirring"  enough,  said  the  farmer's 
wife ;  a  failing  which  no  one  had  ever  laid  at 
her  door. 

"  His  soul  is  in  my  charge,"  sighed  the  good 
priest,  "  and  I  cannot  even  make  him  hear  what 
I  have  got  to  say.  A  heavy  reckoning  will  be 
demanded  of  me  !  " 

"The  sermons  are  in  fault,  beyond  a  doubt," 
the    Kyrkegrim    said.     "The   farmer's    wife    is 


214   THE  KYRKEGRIM  TURNED  PREACHER. 

quite  right.  She's  a  sensible  woman,  and  can 
use  a  mop  as  well  as  myself.  " 

"  Hoot,  hoot !  "  cried  the  church  owl,  pushing 
his  head  out  of  the  ivy-bush.  "And  shall  she 
be  Kyrkegrim  when  thou  art  turned  preacher, 
and  the  preacher  sits  on  the  judgment  seat  ? 
Not  so,  little  Niss  !  Dust  thou  the  pulpit,  and 
leave  the  parson  to  preach,  and  let  the  Maker 
of   souls  reckon  with  them." 

"  If  the  preacher  cannot  keep  the  people 
awake,  it  is  time  that  another  took  his  place," 
said  the  Kyrkegrim. 

"  He  is  not  bound  to  find  ears  as  well  as 
arguments,"  retorted  the  owl,  and  he  drew  back 
into  his  ivy-bush. 

But  the  Kyrkegrim  settled  his  red  cap  firmly 
on  his  head,  and  betook  himself  to  the  priest, 
whose  meekness  (as  is  apt  to  be  the  case) 
encouraged  the  opposite  qualities  in  those  with 
whom  he  had  to  do. 

"  The  farmer  must  be  roused  somehow,"  said 
he.     "  It  is  a  disgrace  to  us  all,  and  what,  in  all 


A    STIRRING    SERMON.  21 5 

the  hundreds  of  years  I  have  been  Kyrkegrim, 
never  befell  me  before.  It  will  be  well  if  next 
Sunday  you  preach  a  stirring  sermon  on  some 
very  important  subject." 

So  the  preacher  preached  on  Sin — fair  of 
flower,  and  bitter  of  fruit !  —  and  as  he 
preached  his  own  cheeks  grew  pale  for  other 
men's  perils,  and  the  Kyrkegrim  trembled  as  he 
sat  listening  in  the  porch,  though  he  had  no 
soul  to  lose. 

'/Was  that  stirring  enough.?"  he  asked, 
twitching  the  sleeve  of  the  farmer's  wife  as  she 
flounced  out  after  service. 

"Splendid!"  said  she,  "and  must  have  hit 
some  folk  pretty  hard  too." 

"It  kept  your  husband  awake  this  time,  I 
should  think,"  said  the  Kyrkegrim. 

"  Heighty  teighty  !  "  cried  the  farmer's  wife. 
"  I'd  have  you  to  know  my  good  man  is  as 
decent  a  body  as  any  in  the  parish,  if  he  does 
take  a  nap  on  Sundays  !  He  is  no  sinner  if  he 
is  no  saint,  thank  Heaven,  and  the  parson 
knows  better  than  to  preach  at  him." 


2l6   THE  KYRKEGRIM  TURNED  PREACHER. 

''Next  Sunday,"  said  the  Kyrkegrim  to  the 
priest,  "  preach  about  something  which  con- 
cerns everyone ;  respectable  people  as  well  as 
others." 

So  the  preacher  preached  of  Death  —  whom 
tears  cannot  move,  nor  riches  bribe,  nor  power 
defy.  The  uncertain  interruption  and  the  only 
certain  end  of  all  life's  labors !  And  as  he 
preached,  the  women  sitting  in  their  seats  wept 
for  the  dead  whose  graves  they  had  been  tend- 
ing, and  down  the  aged  cheeks  of  the  Kyrke- 
grim there  stole  tears  of  pity  for  poor  men, 
whose  love  and  labors  are  cut  short  so  soon. 

But  the  farmer  slept  as  before. 

"Do  you  not  expect  to  die?"  asked  the 
Kyrkegrim. 

"Surely,"  replied  the  farmer,  "we  must  all 
die  some  day,  and  one  does  not  need  a  preacher 
to  tell  him  that.  But  it  was  a  funeral  sermon, 
my  wife  thinks.  There  has  been  bereavement 
in  the  miller's  family." 

"  Men  are  a  strange  race,"  thought  the  Kyrke- 


NEW    DISHES    BEGET    NEW   APPETITES.       21/ 

grim ;  but  he  went  to  the  priest  and  said  — 
"The  farmer  is  not  afraid  of  death.  You  must 
find  some  subject  of  which  men  really  stand  in 
awe." 

So  when  Sunday  came  round  again,  the 
preacher  preached  of  judgment  —  that  dread 
Avenger  who  dogs  the  footsteps  of  trespass, 
even  now!  That  awful  harvest  of  whirlwind 
and  corruption  which  they  must  reap  who  sow 
to  the  wind  and  to  the  flesh  !  Lightly  regarded, 
but  biding  its  time,  till  a  man's  forgotten  follies 
find  him  out  at  last. 

But  the  farmer  slept  on.  He  did  not  wake 
when  the  preacher  spoke  of  judgment  to  come, 
the  reckoning  that  cannot  be  shunned,  the 
trump  of  the  Archangel,  and  the  Day  of  Doom. 

**  On  Michaelmas  Day  I  shall  preach  myself," 
said  the  Kyrkegrim,  **  and  if  I  cannot  rouse  him, 
I  shall  ^ive  up  my  charge  here." 

This  troubled  the  poor  priest,  for  so  good  a 
Kyrkegrim  was  not  likely  to  be  found  again. 

Nevertheless  he  consented,  for  he  was  very 


2l8       THE    KYRKEGRIM    TURJTED    PREACHER. 

meek,  and  when  Michaelmas  Day  came  the 
Kyrkegrim  pulled  a  preacher's  gown  over  his 
homespun  coat,  and  laid  his  round  hat  on  the 
desk  by  the  iron-clamped  Bible,  and  began  his 
sermon. 

**  I  shall  give  no  text,"  said  he,  **  but  when  I 
have  said  what  seems  good  to  me,  it  is  for  those 
who  hear  to  see  if  the  Scriptures  bear  me  out." 

This  was  an  uncommon  beginning,  and  most 
of  the  good  folk  pricked  their  ears,  the  farmer 
among  them,  for  novelty  is  agreeable  in  church 
as  elsewhere. 

"I  speak,"  said  the  Kyrkegrim,  "of  that 
which  is  the  last  result  of  sin,  the  worst  of 
deaths,  and  the  beginning  of  judgment  —  hard- 
ness of  heart." 

The  farmer  looked  a  little  uncomfortable,  and 
the  Kyrkegrim  went  bravely  on. 

**Let  us  seek  examples  in  Scripture.  We 
will  speak  of  Pharaoh." 

But  when  the  Kyrkegrim  spoke  of  Pharaoh 
the  farmer  was  at  ease  again.     And  by-and-bye 


'  OGNUNO    ALL     ARTE   SUA.  219 

a  film  stole  gently  before  his  eyes,  and  he 
nodded  in  his  seat. 

This  made  the  Kyrkegrim  very  angry,  for  he 
did  not  wish  to  give  up  his  place,  and  yet  a  Niss 
may  not  break  his  word. 

"Let  us  look  at  the  punishment  of  Pha- 
raoh," he  cried.  But  the  farmer's  eyes  were 
still  closed,  and  the  Kyrkegrim  became  agi- 
tated, and  turned  hastily  over  the  leaves  of  the 
iron-clamped  Bible  before  him. 

"We  will  speak  of  the  plagues,"  said  he. 
"  The  plague  of  blood,  the  plague  of  frogs,  the 
plague  of   lice,  the  plague  of  flies  — " 

At  this  moment  the  farmer  snored. 

For  a  brief  instant,  anger  and  dismay  kept 
the  Kyrkegrim  silent.  Then  shutting  the  iron 
clamps  he  pushed  the  Book  on  one  side,  and 
scrambling  on  to  a  stool,  stretched  his  little 
body  well  over  the  desk,  and  said,  "But  these 
flies  were  as  nothing  to  the  fly  that  is  coming  in 
the  turnip-crop ! " 

The   words   were   hardly   out   of   his   mouth 


220   THE  KYRKEGRIM  TURNED  PREACHER. 

when  the  farmer  sat  suddenly  upright,  and  half 
rising  from  his  place,  cried  anxiously,  "Eh, 
what  sir  ?  What  does  he  say,  wife  ?  A  new 
fly  among  the  turnips  ?  " 

**  Ah,  soul  of  clay ! "  yelled  the  indignant 
Kyrkegrim,  as  he  hurled  his  round  hat  at  the 
gaping  farmer.  **  Is  it  indeed  for  such  as  thee 
that  Eternal  Life  is  kept  in  store  ?" 

And  drawing  the  preacher's  gown  over  his 
head,  he  left  it  in  the  pulpit,  and  scrambling 
down  the  steps  hastened  out  of  church. 

■^  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

As  he  had  been  successful  in  rousing  the 
sleepy  farmer  the  Kyrkegrim  did  not  abandon 
his  duties  ;  but  it  is  said  that  thenceforward  he 
kept  to  them  alone,  and  left  heavier  responsi- 
bilities in  higher  hands. 


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